


Chasin' You

by burninghoneyatdusk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bartender Clarke Griffin, Cheerleader Clarke Griffin, Country Music, Country Singer Bellamy Blake, Eventual Smut, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Football player Bellamy Blake, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Song fic, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: When Bellamy and Clarke fell in love as teenagers in small town Tennessee, it felt like they had the world at their feet. But when tragedy struck and Clarke lost everything, she ran.Six years later, Bellamy Blake is a rising country star. Unbeknownst to his fans, the song that sent him to the top of the charts is a promise to the girl he never stopped loving. A promise that he’ll never stop looking for her, even if the only chance he has of finding her again is through the radio.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 123
Kudos: 232





	1. Chasin' You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a song fic inspired by the song 'Chasin' You' by Morgan Wallen.
> 
> **update Feb 21, 2021**  
> I wanted to address the fact that while this fic is based on the song Chasin' You by Morgan Wallen, I obviously think he's a racist pos and I don't endorse him at all. Unfortunately I started this fic before that happened and can't change the whole fic without scrapping it completely. None of his other songs will be featured in this fic.
> 
> Each chapter is a track off of "Bellamy’s" album and is Clarke remembering the moments he’s singing about. The flashbacks will eventually catch up to the present. Each song off "Bellamy's" album is a real country song. It should go without saying, but I do not own any of these songs. While I think you'll appreciate the story more if you listen to the songs/like country music, it's not at all necessary for understanding or enjoying the story. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments and always appreciate a good ol kudos. As always, hit me up on tumblr @burninghoneyatdusk or twitter @burnhoneydusk_ for anything.

Dead Zone is packed tonight, so much so that the back of Clarke’s black tanktop is sticking to the sweat on her back. She tucks a stray piece of blonde hair that fell out of her high messy bun back behind her ear before she takes the next customer’s order. Clarke leans over the bar, entirely aware of the way it pushes her generous cleavage up, and raises her brow at the two guys waiting to order. 

“Two shots of Jack Fire and two bud lights,” the one guy screams over the music.

Clarke smirks as she quickly moves to pour the shots, expertly flipping the bottle in her hand. 

_Jack fire_ , she thinks. 

She should have known that Dead Zone hosting a country music night would draw the type of people who drink Jack Fire. Her people, really. Or at least, who used to be her people. Then again, back in those days, they drank the sickly sweet Fireball or any knockoff variation that was even cheaper. She brings over their drinks and wordlessly accepts their card, bringing it back a minute later. Already serving another customer, she looks up to see the back of their plaid shirts already disappearing back into the crowd. When she picks up the receipt a moment later, she isn’t surprised to see the large tip attached to it. Clarke smirks. Her low cut tank top has done its job again. 

Luke Bryan’s voice echoes throughout the bar as she continues to work, her feet aching at this point. She takes a mere ten second break to chug a water bottle, noticing the scowl on Murphy’s face as he pours four shots.

“Aw what’s the matter, not having fun at the country hoedown?” Clarke teases. 

“This is _Vegas_ ,” Murphy retorts, like that explains everything. 

Clarke shrugs. “Nobody’s ordering cocktails and the place is absolutely packed, which means more tips. Don’t complain,” she chides, slapping a hand over his shoulder. His t-shirt is just as sweaty as her tanktop.

Clarke takes the next order and moves around Murphy to pull two cans of Coors Light out of the fridge.

“Isn’t this the scene you were trying to escape?” Murphy taunts.

“Don’t pull me down to your level of cranky,” she laughs. “It’s just for a night, it’s not a big deal.”

It’s true, it feels a little strange to be listening to country music. She’s stayed away from it since the very night she left Arkadia. The ghosts of too many memories attached to every tune, every lyric. Dead Zone was typically a dive bar that played 80s and 90s alternative rock music - all the classics that were fun to sing along to, and a far cry from the type of music the other clubs in Las Vegas played. But their manager had the idea to have a country night to attract a new crowd and promote the bar. Clearly, it was working. So sure, Clarke didn’t _love_ hearing all these songs that reminded her of her youth, but there were also so many new country songs that meant nothing to her these days. Besides, she was so busy she was hardly listening.

Murphy and her weren’t the only ones working the bar, but the other two were relatively new hires, whereas she’d been working with Murphy for over two years now. That lovable asshole was like a brother to her at this point.

It happens when it’s nearly 1am. Clarke knows because she thinks she remembers checking her phone right before it, and it had read 12:53am. She’s pouring a couple vodka shots when she hears him.

_We used to chase that Chattanooga freight_  
_Couple of kids in a Chevrolet_  
_Catch a little air when we cross the tracks_  
_Sipping on something from a paper sack_

Clarke nearly throws up at the sound of his voice, right there behind the bar. She sets down the vodka bottle, tightly gripping the edge of the bar. 

_You hang your shirt on that maple limb_  
_Slipping through the moon to the river bend_  
_Wasn't very long til I was jumping in, jumping in_  
_I guess I'm still doing now what I was doing then_

It feels absolutely impossible, but she knows it’s him. She knows his voice better than anyone else’s, even after six years. But this is the first time she’s hearing it since she left. 

_Chasing you like a shot of whiskey_  
_Burning going down, burning going down_  
_Chasing you like those goodbye tail lights_  
_Headed west to anywhere out of this nowhere town_

Clarke glances up from the the bar counter, still gripping it. The girls who ordered the shots are looking at her with concern, which she doesn’t have time to process before she feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up to find one of the new hires wearing a worried expression.

“You okay?”

_Chasing that freedom, chasing that feeling that got gone too soon_  
_Chasing that you and me, I only see in my rear view_

Murphy answers before she can, coming up to stand next to her on her other side.

“Go get some air, Clarke, I’ve got it.” He takes the bottle of vodka from her hand before giving her a gentle shove towards the back door to the alley. Clarke walks towards it numbly, hearing him sing the end of the chorus before she steps out into the cool night air.

_Yeah, I'm laying here tonight holding someone new_  
_Still chasing you, still chasing you_

Clarke squats on the ground, holding her head in her hands. 

_Fuck_ , she thinks, right before she’s puking on the brick wall of the building. She probably looks like a drunk girl on vacation who can’t hold her liquor. 

When she’s done, she fishes out a cigarette and her lighter with shaky hands.

 _Fuck,_ she thinks again, inhaling the smoke. 

It was the sound of his voice alone that first sent her spiraling, but now the lyrics of the song are catching up with her too. Is he singing about her? Could that really be about her? She isn’t sure, she needs to listen to it again. She didn’t catch every word, but the words _chasin’ you_ echo in her broken mind.

Well, he did it. He really did it. She always knew that he could, just how talented he was. It was him that never believed it. Swimming through the messy emotions flooding through her at the sound of his voice, at the news that he has a song popular enough to be on the country Top 40 charts, she realizes one of the loudest feelings is pride. 

_He made it_. 

Of course, the idea that the song he’s singing is a reflection of him _not_ moving on from her only breaks her heart, overshadowing any of the good feelings. She takes a deep breath and another drag of her cigarette. She’s got to pull it together and go back in if she doesn’t want to be fired. At least his song will have ended by now.

After ten more minutes, Clarke drops what’s left of the cigarette on the ground and grinds it into the pavement with her heel. 

_You can do this,_ she tells herself. 

She takes her hair out of the bun, running her hands through damp, blonde waves, died pink at the ends, before putting it back up again. Her scalp is damp from sweat, her body clammy after lingering in the cool dessert air.

Murphy doesn’t say anything when Clarke comes back in, nor does he say anything when she takes not one, but two shots of Jack before returning to work. She’s all business after that, compartmentalizing the incident. She’s good at that - has been doing that for six years. 

\--∞--

“So, we’re not going to talk about it, huh,” Murphy prompts.

Clarke hugs her leather jacket tighter to her body. She found it at a thrift stop last year and loves it, even if it is a size too big for her. It’s nearly 2:30am and Murphy and her are walking back to their apartment. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk from Dead Zone, which makes their lives much easier.

Clarke sighs. “Not my best moment.”

“No shit.”

“The guy singing, the song playing…”

“Yeah?”

“That was my ex.”

“Oh. Your ex is a famous country singer?”

“Apparently so.”

“That’s awesome. You should tell him he knocked you up and see if he’ll pay you to keep quiet.”

“Murphy!” she laughs, knocking into him. “You’re such a dick.”

“A smart one.”

“Smart one,” she scoffs. “Where would I get a kid from?”

“Don’t you volunteer with the art stuff at the hospital? Just borrow one of them.”

“There are...so many concerning parts of this conversation,” she laughs.

Clarke glances at him and realizes that getting her to laugh was probably the point.

“Did you guys end on bad terms or something?”

Clarke’s gut twists at the question. She’s never talked about him with anyone, despite the fact that she hasn’t gone a day without thinking about him since she left.

“We didn’t end on any terms. I didn’t tell him I was leaving town.”

“Damn, Griffin. You’re cold.”

“Yeah, I know,” she agrees. “So I don’t think I really deserve the fake baby money anyways.”

Murphy laughs at that, throwing an arm around her while they walk the rest of the way home.

When they get back to the apartment, Murphy heads straight to bed, even though she knows she’ll hear him and Emori fucking as soon as her and Raven get back from the club they work at. It’s a high end strip club, one where they make a decent chunk of cash from wealthy clients. Clarke wishes she had the confidence or talent for it, but it was out of the question when Raven suggested it. So Raven hooked her up with a gig at the bar with Murphy instead.

Clarke heads to the kitchen and pours a generous serving of $4 red wine before wandering out to the balcony. Their apartment isn’t in a great neighborhood and the building is kind of shitty in general, but it’s not the worst she’s lived in since leaving Arkadia. Plus, living with Emori, Raven, and Murphy makes it better. She collapses into one of the cheap folding lawn chairs they keep out there and takes a sip of wine before setting it down so she can pull out another cigarette. She sits there for a little while, just smoking and staring at the other shitty apartment building balconies, trying to gather the strength to google him. To look him up on spotify. It’s going to send her spiraling, that much she knows. But she also knows she has no choice but to look now. Emori and Raven come home soon after and Raven steps out onto the balcony to say hi, but is tired and heads to bed instead of staying out there.

 _Okay_ , Clarke tells herself, trying to gather her strength. _It’s time._

She takes another sip of wine and another drag of her cigarette before she begins to type his name into the google bar of her cracked iPhone. She’s never let herself before, and without any social media, it had been relatively easy to avoid any news about him. 

_Bellamy Blake._

She momentarily wonders if he might have picked a stage name, but he always did have a solid celebrity name. Once upon a time, she had told him as much. With a shaky finger, she scrolls through the results. Articles upon articles about him. Country music’s breakout star of the year. The new country singer, as attractive and talented at writing as he is at singing. The song she heard in the bar - or at least she guesses, since its title is Chasin’ You - was his album’s first single and is also the title of the album. The whole album has been out for just over a month and he’s already on tour, has already played two shows according to his website tour schedule. Apparently he was the primary writer for every song on his album, which is pretty unique for someone so new. Still, she isn’t surprised. Song writing was his talent, even more so than singing. 

Reading about him isn’t as difficult as she thought it might be. There’s something detached about it, reading about him like he’s any other celebrity she knows nothing about. But then she goes to his spotify profile and knows that hearing his voice will undo her, just like at the bar. Her heart begins to race as she scrolls down his page and she starts gnawing on her thumbnail. 

She can see that he has two singles, released before the album. ‘Chasin’ You’ and another song titled ‘Black.’ It doesn’t escape her notice that he’s apparently featured on multiple spotify playlists - Hot Country, Country Kind of Love, New Boots. In fact, it’s his photo on the album cover of the New Boots playlist. Swallowing thickly, she clicks on the album. She wants to listen to the whole album, from beginning to end, but first, she needs to finish listening to the song she heard at the bar. She clicks on that single, sets her phone down on the arm of the chair and takes another sip of her wine after snubbing out her cigarette. At the sound of his voice, her eyes fill with tears. 

_We used to chase that Chattanooga freight_  
_Couple of kids in a Chevrolet_  
_Catch a little air when we cross the tracks_  
_Sipping on something from a paper sack_  
_You hang your shirt on that maple limb_  
_Slipping through the moon to the river bend_  
_Wasn't very long til I was jumping in, jumping in_  
_I guess I'm still doing now what I was doing then_  
  
_Chasing you like a shot of whiskey_  
_Burning going down, burning going down_  
_Chasing you like those goodbye tail lights_  
_Headed west to anywhere out of this nowhere town_  
_Chasing that freedom, chasing that feeling that got gone too soon_  
_Chasing that you and me, I only see in my rear view_  
_Yeah, I'm laying here tonight holding someone new_  
_Still chasing you, still chasing you_  
  
_You always used to talk about LA_  
_I heard you got as far as Santa Fe_  
_Well you know I tried to track you down_  
_I only got as far as Guitar Town_  
_Singing about a girl I used to know, used to know_  
_Well you should know that I haven't given up_  
_I'm just on your radio_

_Chasing you like a shot of whiskey_  
_Burning going down, burning going down_  
_Chasing you like those goodbye tail lights_  
_Headed west to anywhere out of this nowhere town_  
_Chasing that freedom, chasing that feeling that got gone too soon_  
_Chasing that you and me, I only see in my rear view_  
_Yeah, I'm laying here tonight holding someone new_  
_Still chasing you, still chasing you_  
  
  
_Chasing you like a shot of whiskey_  
_Burning going down, burning going down_  
_Chasing you like those goodbye tail lights_  
_Headed west to anywhere out of this nowhere town_  
_Chasing that freedom, chasing that feeling that got gone too soon_  
_Chasing that you and me, I only see in my rear view_  
_Yeah, I'm laying here tonight holding someone new_

  
_Still chasing you, still chasing you_  
_Still chasing you, still chasing you_

There are tears streaming down her face by the time the song ends. It’s her. It’s all about her.


	2. Raised On It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, long time no see. Thank you guys so much for the kudos & comments! I've been blown away that so many people already liked the story by the 2k first chapter, so hopefully this continues to live up to expectations. As I said last time, each chapter is a track off of "Bellamy's" album. This song, track one, is 'Raised On It' by Sam Hunt. As I said before, unless your ears physically can't handle country music, I suggest taking a listen! I'll probably make a playlist for the fic if I ever get the time. 
> 
> Going to do my usual spiel - the reason I haven't updated in a while is because I'm currently participating in the Bellarke Writers for BLM Initiative, where myself and [other writers](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/writers) and [content creators](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/content) are accepting prompts in exchange for a donation to an organization that supports the BLM cause. For my own prompts, I am matching the donation when I post and accepting WIP update requests as prompts. Non-bellarke writers are also participating and no amount is too small - learn more by visiting the [carrd](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.carrd.co/) and feel free to message or DM me for more details!
> 
> So while I am writing in order of the prompts I receive, this chapter is technically me cheating. HOWEVER, it's been mostly done since I started the initiative and I wanted to get this chapter published since it's just been sitting in my drafts for a while. If you'd like to see Ch3 published soon, submitting a request as a BLM prompt is a great way to do that!

There’s a moment, after the song ends, where Clarke wonders if she really wants to listen to the rest of them. How easy would it be to pretend she never heard him? To never look him up again, to never venture to his spotify profile again, to pretend everything is the same as it was four hours ago. But it isn’t, and she can’t. She wishes the reason was that she’s a good person - that she recognizes he might be trying to reach her and is only listening because he wants her too. But that’s not really true, if she’s being brutally honest with herself. More than anything, she’s simply tempted by curiosity, by nostalgia, by a desire to sink back into the person she was seven, eight years ago. 

_One song_ , she decides. _I’ll just listen to one song, and then I’ll go to sleep and do what I can to preserve my sanity._

Clarke’s finger hovers over the play button on the album. Her eyes sweep over the track list, landing on the title of the first song. _Raised On It,_ it reads. She takes another generous sip of her wine and presses play. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she lets herself open to his voice, to the lyrics, and easily slips back in time. Back to when everything had been simple. 

* * *

_Snapbacks and Levi jeans_   
_PBR and burnt CDs_   
_Running for the grass on the hot concrete_   
_We're still working on our summer feet_   
_Cheap gas and Reddy ice_   
_Trunk music and headlight fights_   
_Dodging the smoke from a riverbank fire_   
_A pretty girl and a pickup line like_   
_"Hey what's your name, you know smoke follows beauty, baby"_   
  
_We stayed up all night long, made our drinks too strong_   
_Feeling ten feet tall_   
_Ropes swinging into the water in the middle of the night_   
_Like oh-oh-oh oh oh_   
_Breaking our boots in, stompin' on the ground we grew up on_   
_Yeah, we were raised on it (raised on it)_   
_Worked hard and played on it_   
_We had it made on it_   
_We were born and raised on it_   
  
_Car wash at the custom tent_   
_Sticky quarters and pine tree scent_   
_The only sign that we ever got stuck_   
_Is the muddy chain in the back of the truck_   
_5-1's with a 20 on top_   
_Three guard at the barber shop_   
_Duckin' from your ex at the 4-way stop_   
_Turn the music down when you're passing the cops_

_We stayed up all night long, made our drinks too strong_   
_Feeling ten feet tall_   
_Ropes swinging into the water in the middle of the night_   
_Like oh-oh-oh oh oh_   
_Breaking our boots in, stompin' on the ground we grew up on_   
_Yeah, we were raised on it (raised on it)_   
_Worked hard and played on it_   
_We had it made on it_   
_We were born and raised on it_   
  
_Mama's prayers and daddy's speech_   
_Front porch philosophies_   
_A little too young and dumb to see_   
_Just what it all meant to me_

_We stayed up all night long, made our drinks too strong  
Feeling ten feet tall  
Ropes swinging into the water in the middle of the night  
Like oh-oh-oh oh oh  
Breaking our boots in, stompin' on the ground we grew up on  
Yeah, we were raised on it (raised on it)  
Worked hard and played on it  
We had it made on it  
We were born and raised on it _

_Mmm yeah  
When that sun starts sinking  
When they turn those open signs around  
We thought we ran this town  
Running around just  
Breaking hearts and curfew  
Out in the yard with no shoes  
Staying cool in a Nylon pool  
Foul ball headed for the parking lot  
And those Saturday mornings we sleep late  
ATVs and fire breaks  
Worn out jeans, black eyed peas, backroads and blue skies  
I was born and raised on it  
Might have misbehaved on it  
Worked hard and played on it  
We had it made _

* * *

Clarke sits at her desk with her head propped up in her hand, doodling in her notebook and paying no attention to the movie playing on one of the school’s TVs that they keep on a tall rolling cart. It’s some old version of Romeo and Juliet that no one is really paying attention to. Her English teacher is fully aware of that, but it’s the last day of school, so that’s kind of the point.

Clarke blows a strand of blonde hair off her face just as a crumpled ball of paper flies in front of her and nearly hits her in the face. She looks up to see Bellamy giving her a sheepish smile as he catches it, a half apology, but Atom immediately pulls her attention away from him.

“Sorry, Princess,” he calls after her.

Clarke dramatically twists in her seat, rolling her eyes at him and flipping him off. Still, she can’t manage it without a smile slipping onto her face.

“You wound me,” Atom cries, dramatically bringing his hand to his heart and falling out of his desk. 

Clarke’s smirk grows but she only shakes her head and returns to her drawing. It’s hot as hell in their classroom - in the whole school really. Arkadia, Tennessee, population 6,000, doesn’t have the money for any kind of AC in their small public school. So the students get used to the thin layer of sweat that coats their foreheads and backs anytime they’re in the school between the months of April and October. Clarke grimaces when she shifts in her seat, her bare thighs sticking to the chair.

It can’t be more than five minutes later that the bell rings and students scramble out of their desks and pour into the hallway, no materials in hand since they haven’t been doing any real work for a week. Their teacher calls after them to have a good summer, but no one is really listening. Two years of high school down, two years of high school to go. 

Clarke barely makes it into the hallway before Atom comes up behind her, throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“You coming to the fire tonight, Princess?”

“Maybe,” she says cheekily, throwing his arm off her once she makes it to her locker. She’s most definitely going to the fire, but she likes to keep them on their toes.

“Maybe,” Atom mimics, smirking at her as he leans against the locker next to hers.

Clarke smiles without looking at him, throwing the few belongings left in her locker into her backpack. Everyone already cleaned out their lockers days ago. She shuts her locker for the last time as a sophomore, slings her backpack over one shoulder and leans against the locker to face Atom. 

To say Atom is attractive would definitely be an understatement. His piercing blue eyes and dark curls against fair skin are the kind of traits that her favorite YA authors give to their heroes. He’s also charming as hell and the Quarterback of their JV football team - well, technically Varsity now that they’re officially done with their sophomore year. Most importantly, he’s been pursuing her the last couple of weeks.

It’s not like she didn’t know who he was before that. She would even say their friends. That’s the thing about Arkadia, about growing up in such a small town. There’s only about 70 kids in her graduating class and she’s been with about 65 of them since the first day of kindergarten. To say they all know each other well - that doesn’t begin to cover it. Moreover, despite the fact that the school is too small to really have defined social cliques, Atom and her certainly run in the same circle. She’s a cheerleader and has been riding the same bus as him to every football game since junior high. They’re at the same parties on the weekends and just last weekend, the two of them kicked everyone’s asses in pong. 

Still, the _flirtation_ part of their friendship...well, that’s certainly new, and Clarke is certainly interested.

“Let me pick you up,” he offers when she says nothing.

“You’ll be drunk already,” she argues, a soft smile escaping her.

“You may have a point,” he laughs. 

Damn does she want to kiss him. But she knows she shouldn’t have too wait long, if tonight goes as planned. 

“Want a ride home now?” he offers.

Clarke shakes her head. “No, I’ve got something. I’ll see you tonight.”

Atom winks at her. “See you then, Princess.”

\--∞--

Clarke walks through the hallways, moving in the opposite direction of the swarms of students as the school empties out. By the time she reaches the art room, only five minutes later, the school is already quiet. She stops short in front of the closed door, realizing that the lights in the classroom are already turned off. She huffs in frustration. As expected, she finds the door locked when she wiggles the handle. Clarke sighs, spinning around with her hands on her backpack straps. She should have known that Lincoln would be as eager to get out of the school as the students are. 

Lincoln, or Mr. Woods, was the kind of cool young teacher that let students call him by his first name and hang out in the classroom whenever they wanted. _Except_ , apparently, on the last day of school. The art room is Clarke’s home away from home. She’d been taking art classes all throughout junior high and high school, but she also spent most of her study halls there when Lincoln allowed it. Sometimes even lunches, if she was struck with inspiration. Not to mention that Clarke is convinced that the art room has the best breeze in the school.

Resigned to head home, Clarke starts walking back towards the entrance of the school. Maybe it’s strange she would rather be in the art room than at her house, but she’s always found it easier to focus there. When she rounds the corner into the next hallway, she stops short at the sound of a guitar strumming. 

Clarke doubles back a few steps to the open door to the music room. She can count on one hand the amount of times she’s even stepped foot in there. Music isn’t exactly a talent of hers - far from it. She peers into the room from the doorway, curiosity getting the best of her. She’s surprised to find Bellamy Blake of all people. He’s sitting on top of a desk with his feet on the chair, guitar in his lap and a pen hanging out of his mouth. There’s an open notebook on the desk next to him. When he stops playing, Clarke thinks she’s been made, but he only leans over to scribble something into the notebook before sticking the pen back in his mouth.

Clarke knew Bellamy in the same way she knew everyone else she grew up with. He had been in her class since kindergarten, since pre-school even. She has a very specific memory of him throwing up during science class in the third grade. She knows the basics of his life, like how his parents got divorced when they were in the first grade and his dad split town soon after. She knows he lives with his mom and twelve year old sister. She’s sure he knows the same basic level of detail about her. 

He’s also their football team’s Running Back and is friends with Atom and the rest of those guys, but is a little more reserved than them. He’s considered popular like Atom, is at the same parties that Clarke goes to, but he’s also the guy that usually puts his headphones in on the bus ride home from football games. He’s never the one embarrassingly drunk at the parties, never the one shamelessly flirting with the girls. So Clarke would maybe say they’re friends, like her and Atom are, but she can’t remember a time she’s hung out with him alone, or at anything that wasn’t a school event, sporting event, or a party. 

Unlike the rest of the guys, Bellamy doesn’t tease and flirt with Clarke. She’s aware that she’s _earned_ the nickname Princess, that she’s the pretty blonde cheerleader with a quick mouth who enjoys the attention the guys give her. Clarke isn’t ashamed of it - so what if she likes to have a good time? That shouldn’t be a crime. But, if anything, Bellamy always seems a little weary of her. Like her parents, Clarke thinks maybe Bellamy Blake is a little exasperated by her lack of a filter and tendency to make questionable decisions for the sake of having a good time. Oh well. His loss. 

“Blake,” she says, walking in and leaning against the open door, arms folded.

Bellamy’s head pops up, clearly surprised to see her there.

“Griffin,” he says back, brow raised and lips curved into a small smirk. “Can I help you?”

“I heard you playing and was wondering why you aren’t on your way to shotgun PBRs at the bank with the guys. But now I can see it’s because you’re busy playing High School Musical instead.”

“I was, until I was interrupted,” he says, giving her a pointed look.

She ignores the hint and walks further into the room, sitting on one of the desks a few feet away from him, feet swinging. 

“Is this like, band extra credit or something? How do you fail _band_?”

Bellamy gives her an exasperated look. “I didn’t _fail_ band. It’s not for a class, I just like to play and write in here. It also happens to be the classroom with the best breeze.”

“False, that’s the art room.”

“Is that why you’re _here_ , bugging me?”

“The art room is locked. Can I stay here?”

“And do what?”

Clarke holds up her sketchbook. 

Bellamy looks like he really wants to tell her to beat it, but relents. “No talking,” he warns. 

Clarke jumps off the desk, happy to have gotten her way if only for the pure sake of getting her way. She sits down at the desk and pulls her pencils out of her bag. The sketch she’s working on is the view from her bedroom window. It’ll be better once she paints it, and she can get the colors of the sunset right, but she wants to sketch it first to make sure she has the details right. She draws for about twenty minutes, while Bellamy alternates between strumming a tune she doesn’t recognize and writing things in his notebook. He also sings while he plays, but keeps his voice so low it’s nearly a murmur, a hum, and she can’t make out the words. Curiosity eventually gets the best of her. 

“What’s the song about?” she asks, setting her pencil down and twisting in her seat to face him.

He looks up at her with the same exasperated expression as earlier. “What happened to our no talking agreement?”

“You’re pretty broody for a football player.”

“And you’re pretty talkative for a girl who agreed to no talking.”

Clarke gives him a playful glare, a little delighted by the fact that she’s annoying him. But she’s also genuinely curious. Her mother says it’s one of her worst traits. Or at least, it’s the one that keeps getting her into trouble. 

“Why aren’t you singing out loud? Is it because I’m here?”

Bellamy lets out a dramatic sigh before answering. “No, I write songs. I don’t sing them.”

“Why not do both? You can’t be that bad at singing, you’re in chorus too.”

Bellamy tilts his head at her and gives her a tired glare. “Clarke?”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

Clarke sighs, relenting and twisting back around to continue her drawing. She gets so lost in it, with Bellamy’s strumming and murmured lyrics as background noise, that she doesn’t realize the time until Bellamy is standing and packing away his guitar. 

“You’ve got to go,” he tells her. “I promised Mrs. Desai I’d lock up behind me.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees reluctantly. “Why do you play here instead of at home?”

“Too distracting,” he says, clicking the guitar case closed. He doesn’t offer more detail than that, but asks, “Why do you draw here instead of at home?”

Clarke shrugs. “Same reason, I guess.”

They don’t say anything else as they gather the rest of their things and Bellamy locks up the classroom door. 

“She must really trust you, huh,” Clarke comments. “You have your own key.”

“Guess more so than Lincoln trusts you,” he taunts, slipping it into his pocket.

“Hey!” she laughs, giving him a small shove. Bellamy ducks away from her, chuckling as he does. He has a nice laugh, she realizes. A low rumble. She’d never really noticed before. 

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks as they leave the school. 

While Bellamy’s pickup truck is certifiably a piece of shit - an old Chevy from the 90s - he at least _has_ a car. Although Clarke’s parents can afford to get her something much better than that, she’s unfortunately now failed her driver’s test twice. 

“I’ve got my bike.”

Clarke waits to see if he’ll be chivalrous, expecting him to insist on putting the bike in his truck bed and giving her a ride despite her refusal, but he doesn’t.

“Alright, see you later,” he says instead, giving her a half wave as he heads in the direction of the parking lot. 

Clarke huffs, turning in the opposite direction towards the bike rack.

\--∞--

It’s nearly 5pm when Clarke rolls onto her front lawn. She shuts the front door quietly, hoping to sneak up to her room unnoticed. She’s only stepped on the first stair before she hears her mother calling out to her from the kitchen. Clarke grits her teeth and rolls her eyes, tossing her backup on the stairs and walking into the kitchen.

She finds both her parents there, sipping on chardonnay as they make dinner. 

“Come help us,” her mother commands as she slices up a cucumber. 

Clarke gives her dad a side hug before pulling another cutting board out of the cabinet.

“How does it feel to be halfway done with high school?” her dad asks, tone as warm as always. He’s the perfect elementary school principal - the ideal combination of firm and comforting.

“Glorious,” she sings. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You’ll wish your life away,” her mother tuts. 

Her mother, one of two doctors in the town, is not _not_ warm. She just has a much lower tolerance level for nonsense and is particular about the way things are done. Because of that, Clarke knows she tests her mother’s patience on a daily basis. Clarke isn’t good sitting still or sticking to the rules. 

“She’s right,” her father adds. “Someday, you’ll look back on these days fondly.”

Clarke scoffs. “Doubtful. Someday, I’ll be living in New York, or LA, or Paris - and living my best life.”

Her father laughs. “Alright, well in the meantime, you can live your best life right here in Arkadia.”

\--∞--

A little before 9, Clarke pulls her tight olive green halter top over her tanned shoulders before pulling on a pair of high-waisted Levi shorts that she cut shorter than her mother appreciated. She tousles her wavy blonde hair, a little damp from the shower still, before putting on deodorant and her battered white converse sneakers. Giving her makeup a final check, she decides she’s ready to go. 

“I’m leaving,” she calls on the way out the door. Her parents, sitting in the living room, say something about having fun, but Clarke is already out the door and doesn’t hear exactly what it was. She told them that she was going to Harper’s house to hang out with some of the other girls. She suspects Harper told her parents she was going to Trina’s, and Trina told her parents she was going to Mel’s, and so on and so on. They had a pretty good system at this point.

Clarke walks her bike to the road before hopping on it and pushing off, heading towards the river bank. 

\--∞--

Clarke can see the fire blazing from a hundred feet away as she passes a few cars, mostly trucks, parked in the area. She watches the large group of people standing around the fire. _Round Here_ by Florida Georgia Line is playing loudly from someone’s truck, the one closest to the fire. Clarke hums along as she rides her bike up, hopping off when it slows and leaning it against someone’s truck. 

_The moon comes up and the sun goes down_   
_We find a little spot on the edge of town_   
_Twist off, sip a little, pass it around_   
_Dance in the dust, turn the radio up_   
_And that fireball whiskey whispers_   
_Temptation in my ear_   
_It's a feelin' alright Saturday night_   
_And that's how we do it 'round here_   
_Yeah, that's how we do it 'round here_

Clarke is greeted by a chorus of excited _Clarke’s_ as she walks towards the fire. By her guess, about half of her 70 person class is there. Roma is the first to come up to her, running to her side and pulling her into a hug where Clarke bears most of the weight. 

“Clarke,” she slurs excitedly. 

“Hey,” Clarke coos warmly, amused by her friend’s state. “You got started early tonight, huh?”

“Uh huh,” Roma agrees, giving her a toothy grin.

Clarke makes the rounds, saying hi to all her friends. Before she manages to get a drink, Atom appears by her side, holding out a PBR to her. 

“For you, Princess,” he says dramatically, even providing her with a bow. Clarke giggles in response.

“But that’s not what I’m drinking,” she tells him, eyebrows raised in a challenge. 

“Oh?” Atom asks, giving her an amused smile.

Clarke takes the bottle of fireball from Mbege without a word, chugging a few solid swallows. She squeezes her eyes as it hits her, handing it back to him. 

“I’d be mad, if I wasn’t so impressed,” Mbege deadpans. 

Clarke simply raises her eyebrows at him before turning back towards Atom. 

“I need more options,” she tells him. Before he can respond, she jumps onto his back. Despite being unprepared, he catches her easily. 

“Right this way, Princess,” he tells her, giving her a piggyback ride towards the coolers. She steals his snapback on the way over, putting it on her own head backwards. The mix of the fireball and her general giddiness that the school year is over has Clarke in a _great_ mood, to say the least.

When they get to the cooler, Clarke’s eyes light up. 

“Troy Bolton!” Clarke squeals as Atom sets her down. 

Bellamy lets out the smallest laugh as he pulls a PBR from the cooler before glaring at her. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke sighs dramatically. “You have a little sister, don’t pretend that you don’t know the High School Musical characters.”

“Yeah, Troy. Sing for us,” Atom taunts. 

“C’mere,” Bellamy laughs, pulling Atom into a headlock. As they shove at each other, which Clarke has come to realize is apparently a form of affection for guys, she begins pouring a generous amount of Evan Williams into a solo cup. She finds a half empty liter of coke and tops it off before turning back towards Atom and Bellamy. 

“We should do shots,” Clarke suggests, eyes already lighting up at her own suggestion. Atom seems just as enthusiastic and starts yelling at other people to come join them before grabbing at the stack of solo cups.

Bellamy shakes his head at her, half amusement, half disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re boring,” she retorts. Except it isn’t an insult as much as it’s a challenge. Clarke smiles at him, eyes glittering with mischief, daring him to prove her wrong.

He rolls his eyes at her, giving her a sarcastic smile as he accepts one of the cups from Atom. 

Clarke isn’t sure how much time passes or how many more drinks she has. All she knows is that she’s having a _good_ night, laughing with her friends until her stomach hurts and enjoying the fact that Atom is somehow always in her vicinity, always has a hand on her. 

At one point, the wind picks up and sends smoke from the fire hurdling in the direction of whoever is unfortunate enough to be standing in its path. It’s why Bellamy ends up next to Clarke again, solo cup in hand, despite that he had been talking to Bree for most of the night. 

“Damn smoke,” he mutters, coughing. 

Clarke clears her throat, going for her best impression of a teenage boy. “Don’t you know smoke follows beauty, baby?”

Bellamy chokes out a surprised laugh, nearly spitting his drink, and Clarke can’t help but appreciate that low rumble again. Why hadn’t she ever noticed it before? Either way, she feels a sense of pride at being the one to draw it out of him.

“Please tell me no one has tried that on you,” Bellamy says, still laughing.

“Oh,” Clarke starts, looking up as if she’s thinking. “Only Mbege, Dax,” she continues, counting off her fingers. “Wells too, but he was mocking Dax, so I’m not sure it counts.”

Bellamy lets out another laugh, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. 

“What, no Bellamy Blake signature pick up lines stored in there?” she asks, poking at his head. 

“No, none that come to mind,” he retorts, ducking out of her reach. 

Before Clarke can respond, Atom returns from grabbing another drink and gently pulls her away by her arm. 

“Let’s go for a walk, Princess,” he whispers directly into her ear, voice low.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, eyes lighting up. 

Atom takes her hand and they walk along the river bank in the dark, further away from the fire. 

“You look gorgeous tonight,” he tells her. 

The slurring kind of takes the charm out of the statement, if she’s being honest. Still, Clarke smiles at the compliment, ducking her face and looking down. Atom stops walking but keeps his hand interlaced with hers as he leans closer. Without further preamble, he abruptly closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers. 

It’s far from Clarke’s first kiss, but those were mostly random events with guys she hadn’t thought much about before the kiss and didn’t give too much thought to after the fact. Atom though, could be something more and this is something she’s thought about for a _long_ time. This is the kind of kiss that’s supposed to matter. That’s why she fights against the instinctual reaction that it’s a little bit disappointing, even though it’s the first thought that pops into her head as his mouth moves against hers. 

Clarke opens her mouth to his as his arms wrap around her waist to pull her closer. She can taste the whiskey on his tongue, but that isn’t the bad part. She doesn’t mind that at all. It’s more of the fact that he’s a bit...well, a bit more slobbery that she would prefer. Messy in a way that really has more to do with the alcohol than any kind of passion. Clarke pulls away first and when she does, Atom falters, nearly stumbling. 

“Okay,” she laughs. “Let’s get you some water.”

“You got it, Princess,” he responds easily, throwing an arm over her shoulder as she begins to lead them back to the fire. Clarke wonders how it’s possible that his slurring has gotten worse since he kissed her a minute ago. 

By the time they make it back to the fire, people have already started clearing out. Those sober enough to make it home in trucks drive out and some abandon them to walk home with plans to pick them up the next day. Clarke leads Atom towards a truck and sits him on the tailgate. 

“Sit,” she commands, like he’s a dog, before grabbing a bottle of water for him. She checks her phone while Atom chugs the water and realizes it’s nearly 1am. Clarke waves goodbye to more people who pass by her as she babysits Atom.

“Blake!” Atom slurs excitedly. Clarke spins around to find Bellamy walking towards them, looking thoroughly amused.

“Hey, man,” Bellamy laughs once he’s standing in front of him, next to Clarke. 

“Isn’t Clarke gorgeous, man?” Atom slurs, a goofy smile on his face. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, bringing the water bottle back to his lips.

Bellamy turns towards her, pretending to assess her with narrowed eyes. “I guess...maybe in the right lighting,” he suggests in a doubtful voice, tilting his head. 

“Bellamy Blake!” she cries, shoving him. Bellamy only laughs in response. 

“No, no,” Atom argues, shaking his head like Bellamy misunderstood. “In every light.”

“Can you drive him home?” Clarke asks, ignoring Atom’s flattery. 

“I’m not driving anywhere, but I’ll walk him home,” he tells her, helping Atom to stand. 

“I’ll come with you, let me grab my bike,” Clarke offers, walking away before he can argue with her. Now that she’s no longer keeping an eye on Atom, she becomes aware of just how drunk she is. Not dangerously so, but yeah, her balance isn’t so solid. Oh well - she’ll manage. 

Bellamy is waiting for her on the dirt road, arm around Atom to bear his weight, as Clarke walks her bike up to meet them. They don’t say anything as they begin walking down the road, Clarke focused on walking her bike and Bellamy focused on not letting Atom fall down.

“I’m just going to take him to my house, it’s closer and my mom’s not home tonight anyways.”

“Where’s your mom at?”

“You’re nosy, you know that?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“She’s just working a shift at a bar in Polis, so she won’t be home until after three.”

“Oh shit,” Atom mutters, pushing away from Bellamy. He makes it to the ditch next to the road before he starts puking. 

Bellamy looks over at him, looking incredibly tired. “Great,” he sighs. 

Clarke can’t help but let out an amused laugh at Bellamy’s reaction.

“It’s not funny,” he warns.

Clarke schools her face into something more serious. “Not funny,” she repeats, biting down on her lip in an attempt not to laugh again. 

Bellamy helps Atom up again and they go back to walking quietly the rest of the twenty minute walk back to Bellamy’s house. Atom occasionally says something that draws a laugh from them, given his words are more akin to baby gibberish. Finally, they approach Bellamy’s white ranch-style home. It’s small, but in a quaint way, boasting a flower garden in the front and a small porch holding two wicker chairs. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you later,” Clarke tells Bellamy. She doesn’t bother saying anything to Atom. He won’t remember it anyways.

“Wait,” Bellamy starts. Clarke stops, turning around to face him. “Let me put him to bed and I’ll walk you home.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” she insists, although she’s secretly touched by the offer.

“Don’t be difficult, _Princess_ ,” he warns, poking fun at the nickname. Clarke raises her brow at that, both a little amused and insulted. That’s probably the first time he’s ever called her princess, and it isn’t in the flirtatious tone the other guys use. “I’ll be right back.”

Clarke sighs as Bellamy disappears into his house. Still holding her bike upright, she stares up at the sky. It’s amazing really, how many stars cloak their little town on a clear night like this. Maybe it’s because she’s drunk, but it makes her feel both big and small all at once. Like nothing and everything matters. That’s how she wants to make people feel with her art. 

“Ready?” Bellamy asks, startling her as she pulls her gaze from the sky.

“Come on,” he says when she doesn’t answer. He wordlessly starts walking her bike for her, which she doesn’t realize until a few seconds later as she hurries to catch up with him. 

Clarke isn’t sure if she’s the only one who feels awkward. Even though Atom wasn’t exactly coherent, his presence was enough for Clarke not to hear the silence as loudly as she does now. The only sounds are the crickets and cicadas in the distance, and the sound of Bellamy pushing her bike. Yet, when she glances at Bellamy, he doesn’t seem bothered by it. 

“So, what are you doing this summer?” Clarke asks when she can’t take it any longer. She half expects him to call her nosy again.

“Nothing exciting. Working part-time at the garage, babysitting my sister.” He pauses. “And this, I guess,” he laughs.

“Walking me home?” she asks cheekily, even though she knows it isn’t what he meant.

“Yeah, sure, Clarke,” he laughs. “Walking you home.”

There’s another awkward beat of silence before he asks, “What about you?”

“Plotting my future escape from Arkadia,” she tells him confidently, like her plans are as solid as summer camp.

“What’s so bad about Arkadia?”

“It’s boring, to start.”

Bellamy laughs at that.

“What?”

“You never seem very bored to me.”

“Well, I do my best,” she quips. “But no - I don’t really have plans either. Except being walked home by you, of course.”

Bellamy laughs again. “Of course.”

About five minutes later, they make it to Clarke’s house. It’s a large pastel yellow victorian house with a wrap-around porch near the downtown area of Arkadia, if you could really call it ‘downtown’. It was more like a single street with a few shops and restaurants. 

“Well, thanks for the escort,” Clarke tells him, taking back the bike. 

“Of course,” Bellamy tells her. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls, like he’s nervous. “Until next time,” he jokes.

It draws a laugh from Clarke, but she doesn’t say anything more as she gives him a half wave and turns towards her house. She leans her bike against the railing at the bottom of the porch stairs before turning back once more. She can just make out Bellamy in the middle of the street a few houses down from her, hands in his pockets, a dark silhouette contrasted against the glow from the streetlights. Watching him for a few moments longer, she finally turns back towards her house. 

Clarke quietly opens her front door, clicking it shut as gently as she can manage before locking up behind her. Her parents go to bed early, usually by 9:30pm or so. Luckily for Clarke, they’re always in too deep a sleep to notice when she breaks curfew or comes home less than sober. 

Once she makes it to her room, she strips off her shorts, shirt, and bra before pulling on a t-shirt that’s two sizes too big on her. She momentarily considers washing the makeup off her face before deciding she doesn’t have the energy, crawling right into bed instead. She’s exhausted, from both the party and the fact that the school year is officially over. When she closes her eyes, she expects images of Atom to fill her mind. After all, that’s been the case the last few months. It surprises her when she finds herself thinking about Bellamy instead. It’s not like she’s thinking about Bellamy like _that_. She certainly doesn’t have a crush on him or anything close to it - he’s far from her type. It’s more just - well, in a matter of a day, she’s found herself curious about the guy who’s been in the backdrop of her life for as long as she can remember, but who she feels like she really saw for the first time today. 

\--∞--

On the morning of the 4th of July, Clarke drifts downstairs on zombie-like legs at about 11am. To say that Clarke isn’t a morning person would be the understatement of the year, but with no school schedule to keep her in check, it’s always worse during the summers. She finds her parents in the kitchen, packing up several picnic dishes. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” her dad greets her, seemingly amused. 

She grunts something in response, headed straight for the box of Captain Crunch in the cabinet and pulling out a bowl. She’s still in her large sleep shirt that stops just above her knees and didn’t bother doing anything to comb out her bed head or wipe the racoon-eye makeup from under her eyes. 

“Honest to god, Clarke. I was just about to check on you, it’s nearly eleven,” he mom chides as Clarke plops down onto a counter stool at the kitchen island and pours her cereal and milk.

“It’s summer,” she grumbles through her first mouthful.

“And you really need to start washing that makeup off before bed, you’ll regret it in 20 years when you haven’t taken care of your skin.”

Clarke only gives her a mildly sarcastic thumbs up in reply. 

“Okay, we’re off,” her dad says, giving her a peck on the head before her mom starts piling tin-foiled covered pans in his arms. “ _Behave_ ,” he adds.

Clarke waves at them and then they’re gone, the only sound in the house the crunching as she eats her cereal. Her parents were going to Thelonias Jaha’s lake house for the 4th, along with a few other couples. Clarke preferred it that way - better that she didn’t have to worry about running into them during her own festivities, and she knew that Wells felt the same way.

The Jahas were the Griffins’ next door neighbors. As such, Clarke and Wells had grown up together, playing in the same kiddie pool in the backyard since they were five. Wells was still her neighbor and although they had grown apart a bit in middle school, they were still friends. Wells was one of the guys on the football team and is still the guy Clarke considers herself closest to. 

Just as Clarke is setting her bowl in the sink and pouring a cup of coffee, her phone buzzes on the kitchen island. 

**_Harper:_ ** _What time is everyone heading down?_

She sent it to the girls’ group chat and everyone else pretty much immediately begins chiming in. Clarke answers that she’ll be there around 2 and resigns to getting in the shower. Just as Clarke had told Bellamy, the first month of summer had pretty much consisted of the same old nothing - lazy days in the sun and nights spent drinking at the river bank or at someone’s house if their parents were out. 

The first party they went to after the one on the last day of school, Atom and her spent a large portion of it making out on the tailgate of someone’s truck. He was the one who walked her home that night. It was stupid because she _knew_ it was a joke, but before they left, Clarke couldn’t help her eyes from sweeping over the party at the remaining people, wondering if Bellamy was going to make a joke or something about walking her home. But she didn’t even see him, so she focused on the feel of Atom’s hand in hers instead. 

They continued hanging out over the next couple of weeks. They grabbed iced coffees and ice cream at the town’s cafe downtown and went for drives in Atom’s truck, often pulling over to make out. It was certainly better than the first kiss when Atom was wasted, but as they neared the end of June, Clarke realized she had to stop denying what she had been actively ignoring since that first party - she just wasn’t into him anymore. He was nice, treated her right, but - there wasn’t a spark. She found herself bored most of the time and they didn’t seem to have anything of substance to talk about. Perhaps most telling was the fact that it didn’t seem to bother Atom that they didn’t have much in common.

Atom took it well, although he did seem a little hurt at first. But he was a good guy and didn’t make her feel too bad about it. She especially didn’t feel bad when she saw that he was already going after Roma by the next weekend, but she tried not to feel too insulted about it. Mostly she just felt a little down about all of it, about not wanting what she _wanted_ to want.

The good thing was, she was now free to enjoy the day with her friends, nothing holding her back or weighing on her mind. Maybe that’s what it’ll always be like for her. Maybe it isn’t Atom as much as the fact she isn’t meant to be tied to anyone or anything. It certainly feels like that at times. She can’t deny that nothing and no one seems to hold her attention or leave her satisfied. It feels like a deeply personal flaw that she tries her best not to think about too much. 

Clarke wrings her hair out when she gets back to her room, pulling out the red and navy bikini that she bought last month with Bree for this occasion. It’s pretty simple, a navy bottom, it’s top navy and red stripes. But most importantly, it’s a string bikini that her mother has no chance of catching her in, meaning Clarke has _every_ chance of being fawned over by the guys in her class. She puts on the bare minimum amount of makeup, aware that she’ll end up with intense racoon eyes if she over does it, and pulls her cut off jean shorts and a plain white tank top over it. It’s not lost on her that the white tank will almost certainly be worn over her wet swimsuit. 

Clarke doesn’t really have a particular guy she’s chasing tonight. She just wants... _something_. Something to entertain her, something to make her life in Arkadia more bearable, whatever that is. But Clarke is generally a pretty optimistic person - who knows where the day might lead? Arkadia generally attracts people from nearby towns because of its town picnic and fireworks show, so the opportunities are endless. 

Because Clarke generally can’t manage to make it anywhere on time, she isn’t getting on her bike to ride down to the river bank until nearly 2:30pm. She took a shot of her dad’s top shelf whiskey before she left, knowing he wouldn’t miss the small amount, and is feeling more excited than she has in a while. By the time she gets there, she smells the smoke of a few bonfires along the river bank and hears a mix of music, chatter, and people splashing in the water. Unfortunately, glancing at the sky, she also notices that thunder clouds seem to be rolling in. The weather forecast mentioned scattered thunderstorms, but at least it had predicted the skies would clear up by the time the firework show was set to start at 9:30pm.

Whoever was in charge of the music switched it up, because _Drink Up_ by Train is playing as Clarke rolls into the area, easily hopping off her bike. 

_So take this moment_   
_And put it in a glass_   
_If you want a sip, I got memories on tap_   
_Drink up, drink up_

She’s wearing a pair of cheap red plastic sunglasses, which she loves purely because of how flashy they are. She surveys the crowd from behind her glasses until she finds Harper, sipping on a solo cup in front of the fire and talking to her boyfriend, Monty. Clarke sneaks up behind her, pulling her into a tight hug as a greeting which nearly causes Harper to spill her drink, but Harper only laughs it off. Clarke greets Monty, who’s a nice but pretty quiet guy in their class. He’s not an athlete and is probably only here because he’s been dating Harper for a few months. His best friend Jasper tagged along too, known mostly for his crazy antics and selling weed. From the scent of weed interwoven with the campfire smoke, she guesses he’s already made himself a popular guy. 

Clarke spends the rest of the afternoon passed from friend to friend as she drinks, smokes, and floats in the river on a tube next to Roma and Trina. At one point the guys are taunting the girls about not using the rope swing with the rest of them, and Clarke physically can’t help but take the bait, wanting more than anything to prove them all wrong. She lets out a scream tainted by laughter as she flies through the air and into the water. It’s almost exactly when she surfaces, popping her head above the water and making a bit of a show of slicking back her hair, that the first roll of thunder rumbles above them. 

Everyone starts heading towards the shore at that point, knowing all too well how fast summer thunderstorms can come and go. They’re all still gathering their bags and drinks when the sky breaks open, buckets of water pouring down on them. Everyone starts running towards different trucks to take cover and those without cars helplessly hold their towels and bags over their heads. Clarke, already soaking wet, doesn’t much care about the rain. It’s more the thunder and now visible lightning brightening the sky that she’s a little concerned about. She heads towards her bike, thinking maybe she can store it somewhere before she bums a ride off of someone with a car. Only when she finds it, she realizes it’s Bellamy’s truck that she must have leaned it against. She looks up in surprise to see him running up to the truck, just as soaked as she is. 

“This yours?” he asks once he reaches her. 

“Yeah, sorry-” she starts, but she’s interrupted by Bellamy effortlessly lifting it into the bed of the truck. 

Clarke just stares at him, admittedly a little distracted by the fact he looks hotter than she remembers now that he’s soaking wet.

“Clarke, hurry up!” he calls after her, climbing into the driver’s seat. 

It takes a beat to realize that he’s telling her to get into the truck and she runs around to the shotgun side, quickly climbing in just as a strike of lightning hits a telephone pole a couple dozen feet in front of Bellamy’s truck. Clarke’s eyes go wide as she watches an enormous blue spark engulf the top of it before disappearing, a few sparks raining down. 

“Holy shit,” Bellamy says, laughing at the end of the word as he puts the truck in drive. 

Before he has a chance to go anywhere, Mbege pulls up in his own truck with Pascal, Trina, and Riley somehow all packed onto the bench with him. Bellamy rolls down his window in order to hear what they’re trying to yell.

“We’re all heading to Sterling’s place, his parents are out town.”

Bellamy nods and hurries to crank the window back up, rain already pouring into the truck. Clarke lets out a huge breath, adrenaline coursing through her. 

“That was fun,” she breathes out, letting out a small laugh.

Bellamy turns to her, shaking his head. “How is almost getting struck by lightning fun?”

“It’s fun because we got away,” she insists as Bellamy pulls onto the main road. Looking back, she thinks that she definitely jinxed them with those words.

Bellamy chuckles again. “Whatever you say, Griffin. You’re going to Sterling’s right?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.”

They’re still driving on the narrow dirt road along the river bank, which feels dangerous enough with two cars going opposite directions when it’s _not_ storming. Unfortunately, the asshole coming at them with four-wheel drive doesn’t seem to care. 

“Bell-” Clarke starts to warn, as if he doesn’t already see the truck speeding towards them, taking up most of the road.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me,” Bellamy yells, swerving at the last minute, as if he can’t even believe it. 

On instinct, Bellamy’s hand flies across Clarke’s chest like a protective shield as he tries to maneuver the truck into the ditch as gracefully as he can, breaking forcefully. As soon as the truck stops, Bellamy angrily throws his seatbelt off and tries to crank down his window as fast as possible, swearing under his breath the whole time. Clarke looks up with her brow raised, biting down a amused smile when he finally gets the window down and starts cursing at the guy who she’s sure is long gone. She pulls a lukewarm beer out of her bag as he continues, sipping on it as she watches him like a new reality show. After a minute or so, Bellamy slinks back into the seat, angrily cranking his window back up. 

“Shit,” he sighs, turning towards her. “You okay?”

“Peachy.”

“For real, Clarke.”

“For real, Blake. Not a scratch.”

Bellamy nods, running his hands through his wet curls in frustration. “Fuck.”

Clarke takes a large swallow of the beer before she asks the question she’s afraid to ask. “Can you even get out of here?”

“Probably not,” Bellamy grumbles, putting the car back in drive. Due to rain still coming down in buckets, Clarke can feel, more than hear, the wheels whirling hopelessly through the mud. 

“Fuck,” Bellamy repeats, slouching back against the truck. “This is just great.”

Clarke pulls her phone out of her bag. “I don’t have service, do you?”

Bellamy smiles wyrley at her. “Phone is dead.”

Clarke narrows her eyes at him. 

“Hand me a beer,” he says, ignoring her look of disapproval. She does as he asks and he doesn’t say anything more until he takes a few sips. “We usually get service here, it’s probably just because of the storm. Or, if it doesn’t come back, we walk back when the rain stops.”

Clarke groans loudly. The windows are already fogged, the inside of the truck warm and humid. “I’m guessing this piece of shit doesn’t have AC.”

“You guess correctly,” he replies, seemingly not insulted by her dig at his truck. 

“I’m already bored.”

Bellamy throws her a look. “You’re welcome to go frolicking through the storm. Watch out for the lightning.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Let’s play a game.”

Bellamy looks at her wearily. “I don’t like games.”

“Truth or dare?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy laughs at that. “We can’t do any dares, we’re stuck in the truck.”

“I bet I can think of something,” Clarke quips. 

She’s not even sure herself whether she means it flirtatiously - maybe half so. Bellamy doesn’t look entertained by that. His smirk fades and he swallows, looking uncomfortable. Clarke tries not to feel too insulted by his expression. 

“Truth,” he says finally.

Clarke hums, biting down on her lip as she tries to think of a good truth question. Does she want to go for something light, or just dive into the fun stuff? She smiles, settling on the latter. 

“First kiss?” Clarke asks, smirking as she takes a sip of her beer. 

“Who or when?”

“Both.”

“Mel, in the fifth grade by the playground swings.”

Clarke nods knowingly, the distant memory coming back for her. “That’s _right_ , you guys dated in the fifth grade.”

Bellamy laughs. “We were real hot and heavy for the whole two weeks.”

Clarke laughs, remembering how much she really enjoys the low rumble of his own laugh. 

“You?”

Clarke frowns. “That’s not how it works. You have to ask truth or dare.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Clarke. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“First kiss?”

“Who or when?” Clarke asks mockingly.

Bellamy shakes his head at her, smirking. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

Clarke only smiles, finding that it’s very fun to tease Bellamy Blake. “Wells, in the _third_ grade.”

Bellamy mock gasps. “The _scandal_ , Clarke Griffin.”

“I _know_. We were playing in the sprinklers outside. I had seen someone kiss on TV and wanted to try it and poor Wells was roped into it. I remember thinking that I didn’t understand how someone could enjoy that.”

Bellamy laughs. “Okay, you’re up,” he reminds her, taking a sip from his beer.

Clarke opens her mouth in surprise. “Well, well, well. _Now_ you’re interested in the game.”

“I won’t be for long,” he warns.

“Fine, fine,” she relents. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Clarke hums again as she tries to think of another question. “What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

Bellamy furrows his brow at her. “What’s _here_? The truck?”

“No, _Arkadia_.”

“Am I required to leave?” he laughs.

“You don’t _want_ to leave?”

Bellamy shrugs. “I don’t know. My mom and sister are here, I don’t want to be too far from them.”

“What about college?”

Bellamy shrugs again. “I don’t know yet. I’m not good enough for an athletic scholarship and I don’t think I can afford it without one.”

Clarke’s cheeks flush, feeling a sense of shame at having assumed that everyone would have the same opportunities she has. 

“Makes sense,” she settles on. 

Bellamy, however, seems unaffected by the implication. 

“ _But,_ to answer your question - in a theoretical world - I’d write music. That’s what I’d do when I _got out_ ,” he laughs, putting finger quotes around the last two words. 

Clarke shakes her head, a smile slipping onto her lips. “I feel like I wasted a question, I should have known that. Troy Bolton and all.”

Bellamy laughs. “Too late now. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“ _Why_ do you want to get out of here?”

Clarke opens her mouths before quickly closing it again. She wasn’t expecting that question. She was expecting him to ask _what_ she wanted to do, and she could talk for hours about that. She wanted to travel the world, she wanted to make and sell art, she wanted to fall in love, she wanted to have crazy adventures. The why of it all, it made her pause.

Bellamy raises his brow expectantly at her.

“I want to go somewhere bigger, somewhere I don’t take up so much space, where I’m not _too much_ ,” she starts. It was a phrase she was all too familiar with. She’d been hearing it all her life - from her parents, teachers, coaches, even friends. Never said maliciously, but never said fondly either. “I want to go somewhere I’m understood, and make art that makes people feel things - and question things.”

Bellamy pauses, probably not expecting that answer. Clarke cheeks flush, her usual boldness slipping away as an awkwardness settles over them. She’s not sure why she said that, she should have made something up. There’s something about the way Bellamy seems to see through her bullshit that makes her want to be honest.

“Well,” he starts. “I don’t think there’s anywhere you can run to where you won’t stand out. I’ve known you a long time, I think it’s just who you are.”

Clarke bites her lip, and the disappointment that floods through her must be obvious to him. 

Bellamy straightens, hurrying to correct himself. “I didn’t mean that as a bad thing, _at all_ -”

Clarke laughs, her amusement at his reaction enough to wash away any insecure feelings about it. “It’s okay - you’re probably right.” 

Looking behind him, she only just notices that the rain has slowed to a drizzle. Bellamy’s gaze follows hers.

“Thank god,” he mutters.

“One more,” Clarke insists. “Truth or dare?”

Bellamy smiles, ducking his head and letting out a huge sigh. “Oh, I’m so going to regret this. Dare.”

Clarke’s grin widens. “I dare you to go outside and roll around in the mud.”

Clarke can see Bellamy’s confidence falter for a second before he masks it with a cocky grin. “Not a problem, _Princess_ ,” he tells her as he yanks the door open. “Some of us don’t mind a little dirt.”

Clarke’s mouth mock gapes at the insult as she quickly hops out of the truck after him. She climbs into the bed, nearly slipping as she does, and makes her way to the edge. 

“Let’s see it,” Clarke tells him, standing high above him. 

The humidity feels heavy on Clarke’s skin and she knows she must be a sight for sore eyes. Bellamy looks up at her from where he’s standing in the ditch next to the truck, mud already splattered up to his calves. He’s got a cocky grin on his face, like he knows something she doesn’t, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. Despite the fact that he’s given no indication that he might chicken out, Clarke still opens her mouth in a surprised laugh as he dives into the mud, rolling in it like a dog. By the time he stands, he’s covered head to toe, even his face. Clarke hops off the truck to grab his towel out of his bag, handing it to him so he can wipe it away from his eyes. 

“Satisfied?” he laughs.

“You have no idea.”

“Okay,” he starts, throwing the towel over the side of the truck bed. “Truth or dare?”

“What?”

“Well, we can’t finish the game on an uneven note. And I _know_ you’re going to put your money where your mouth is. You’ve got more grit than choosing truth.”

His cocky smile widens and Clarke knows she’s walking into a trap, but doesn’t know how to stop it. She clenches her jaw as she takes him in, not used to being outsmarted. Not used to not having the upperhand in any conversation.

“It’s against the rules to use the same dare,” she warns.

Bellamy shrugs. “I mean, we broke the rules with the first round,” he points out. 

Clarke raises her chin, making it clear that doesn’t matter anymore. 

“But fine. I won’t use the same dare,” he promises.

Clarke narrows her eyes at him once more. 

“Dare,” she declares, voice firm.

Bellamy’s smile wides and he stretches his arms out wide on each side him. “I dare you to come give me a hug.”

Clarke’s mouth gapes, knowing she’s been beaten at her own game but still trying to find a way out of it. He looks absolutely disgusting. 

“Afraid of a little mud, _Princess_?” he teases, the nickname still taunting instead of sweet. 

“No,” she argues immediately, even though she doesn’t move. He does though - Bellamy takes a few steps closer to her, causing Clarke to move back on instinct. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Bellamy moves closer, about to pull her into a hug, but she squirms away at the last minute. “I don’t want to,” she whines, a laugh escaping her. But she’s too late and Bellamy grabs her by the arm, pulling her back into a giant bear hug as she giggles, still trying to squirm her way out of his arms. He’s too strong and keeps her trapped, rubbing his cheek against her forehead in an effort to cover her with even more mud. Her breath catches at the gesture and she can’t tell if it’s because of that or because he’s had his fun that he finally lets her go.

“Much better,” he observes with a cocky grin, taking a step back from her. 

“Blake!” she yells. She scoops up mud from the ground next to her, no longer caring about how gross it is since she’s now mostly covered in it too. 

“Hey, hey,” he warns, backing away. “What happened to the game?”

“Game’s over,” she laughs, chucking the mud at him. By the time it hits his shoulder, he’s already bending down to grab some of his own. It’s thick enough that it stays somewhat cohesive as it flies through the air, hitting her in the stomach. He laughs in delight.

It’s largely a blur after that, as they chase each other around the truck, slinging mud at one another. At one point, he catches up to her and throws her over his shoulder, taking them both down. She ends up lying on her back in the mud, feeling it ooze under her. Bellamy laughs beside her as she taps the ground next to her, more mud splattering as she does.

“Truce,” she declares, breathlessly. 

Bellamy chuckles. “It’s not a truce, I won.”

That almost makes Clarke sling more mud at him, reigniting the war, but the sound of her ringtone makes her pause.

“Shit,” she mutters, both of them scrambling to get up. They got so caught up in - whatever this was - that she didn’t think to check if she had service. Bellamy hands Clarke the damp towel still hanging over the bed of the truck and she quickly wipes off her hands before digging for her phone in her bag. She notes Wells’s face on the screen and answers on what was probably the last ring.

“What the hell happened to you guys?”

Clarke quickly explains what happened and Wells agrees to come get them with his own truck. Once she hangs up, Bellamy hands her the half-empty beer she was working on and takes his own with him while he climbs into the truck bed. He sits on the side with his feet hanging off and Clarke follows suit, the mud caked on her skin already drying. They only have to wait about fifteen minutes before Wells pulls up, his sleek black truck superior to Bellamy’s in almost every way. His window is down as he slows, pulling up to them and finding them still sitting on the side of the truck bed, beers still in hand. 

Wells looks at them, each a ragged mess covered head-to-toe in half-dried mud. His gaze travels between the two of them several times, as if assessing the situation, before landing on Clarke. 

“What the hell did you do to him, Clarke?”

\--∞--

Clarke gets back into the truck as Bellamy pulls the chain from the truck bed and hooks it to the front of his truck before handing it to Wells to attach to his own truck. Clarke watches Bellamy as he starts the car up, smiling as she notes that even his curls are smothered with mud.

It doesn’t take long for Wells to drag Bellamy’s truck out of the ditch, even though more mud is spun all over Bellamy’s truck in the process. Clarke didn’t think his truck could look worse, but she was wrong. Although it hasn’t been more than a couple hours since the storm came through, Clarke feels exhausted, like they’ve been there for half the day. 

“I’ve got to wash the truck before Sterling’s, do you want me to drop you off there first?”

Clarke lets out a surprised laugh.

“What?”

“Wash the truck? I think we need to wash _us_ before Sterling’s.”

Bellamy chuckles in agreement. “I’m embarrassed that didn’t cross my mind.”

Clarke bites down a smile. “Just drive. We’ll hose each other down when we do the car.” 

Bellamy doesn’t say anything more, but she sees out the corner of her eye how he raises his eyebrow at the comment.

\--∞--

Bellamy pulls up to Arkadia’s singular gas station, one that’s never had an automatic car wash and knowing Arkadia, never will. Once Bellamy pulls under the custom tent designated for car washes, he searches a haphazard pile of coins kept in the center console below the middle of the seat, wading through them until he finds four quarters. As he goes inside to pay, Clarke climbs out, examining her unfortunate reflection in the truck window. She pulls off her tank top and slides out of her jean shorts before wandering over to the bucket of sudsy water sitting beside the power hose under the tent. Grimacing, she dips her red sunglasses in an effort to wipe away some of the mud. 

“Need help?”

Clarke turns around to find Bellamy, already out of his shirt and wearing only his swim trunks. Most importantly, he’s pointing the hose at her. 

“Stop, I’ll do it myself,” she warns.

His cocky grin only widens as he begins to spray her, chasing her around the car. For the next half hour, they alternate between assaulting each other with the hose and making a genuine attempt to clean themselves and the car. The hose water is ice cold, shockingly so, but it only feels refreshing. The sky is clear and blue again and Clarke feels like she’s baking - the tent doesn’t do nearly enough to protect them from the Tennessee summer sun.

Clarke takes a step back, looking at the truck as Bellamy sprays the last bit of mud off. He seems to have gotten all the mud off of him but Clarke is pulling her wet locks of blonde hair apart, noting all the mud still clump in parts of it.

She groans dramatically, clawing at it. “It’s still all in my hair,” she whines. “I need a comb.”

Bellamy tilts his head at her, wearing an exasperated expression that she’s grown used to, but that now has a hint of an amusement in it. She can tell by the way the side of his lips quirk upwards, seemingly against his will. 

“C’mere,” he tells her, waving her over.

Clarke narrows her eyes at him, openly suspicious of his intentions. 

Bellamy sighs dramatically. “I won’t spray you, I promise. C’mere,” he tries again.

Clarke concedes this time. If he tries anything, she’ll just wrangle the hose from him and get him back for it. They seem to have a pretty even record right now. She isn’t expecting him to turn her around by her shoulder and bring the hose to her head, its volume turned low. His fingers thread through her hair with one hand, his other using the hose to wash the mud out of it. For reasons unknown, Clarke finds herself holding her breath and tries not to react to the shiver that runs up her spine. 

“I _think_ I got most of it,” he tells her, walking the hose back to its station and turning it off.

Clarke shakes her head at herself, letting out a breath. 

“Thanks,” she tells him quickly, ringing it out onto the pavement the best she can before getting back into the truck. 

“You can drop me off at my place,” she tells him once he turns onto the main road. 

“You’re not going to Sterling’s?”

“I need _clothes_ ,” she laughs. 

“But you’re swimsuit is so...patriotic,” he insists, chuckling. 

Clarke’s cheeks flush at the comment. Maybe he’s expecting her to say something quippy back, but he catches her off guard. 

“I’ll be cold later,” she says instead. “I don’t want to have to stop back at home before the fireworks.”

Bellamy only nods, heading towards her house.

\--∞--

Clarke stares up at the sky, the fireworks exploding above her. She’s sitting in Wells’s truck bed, although she doesn’t know where Wells headed off to. Her, Roma, Bree, and Mel are crowded onto the bed on a couple of blankets, solo cups in hand as they watch the show above them. The rest of her friends are scattered across different cars, people moving from group to group as they watch. Clarke leans against the side, leaning her head back and closing her eyes for a moment, relishing in the deafening boom of the firework. She doesn’t know why, but she’s always liked the noise they make more than the sight of them. She likes how she can feel it vibrate through her bones - something big and unnameable. 

She startles, eyes popping open, when she feels someone tug on a strand of her hair. By the time she sits up straighter and leans over the side of the truck bed, Bellamy is already walking away from her. He’s walking with Mbege, supposedly listening to him, but he’s turned towards her, as if waiting for her reaction. Giving her a quick smirk, he turns back towards Mbege and keeps walking.

* * *

Clarke pauses the song as it fades out, all too aware that she doesn’t have it in her to listen to the next track at the moment. She puts her phone down and swallows the rest of her wine, which goes down uncomfortably because of the enormous lump in her throat. Stubbing out what’s left of her cigarette on the ashtray resting on the plastic end table next to her, she takes a dramatically deep breath. 

The air smells awful here, she remembers. Usually it’s easy to ignore, but right now, the aroma of fresh cut grass and sunshine, the river bank and campfire smoke, are all running through her memories. The difference feels jarring. Slipping back into their quiet apartment, she decides to wash her wine glass in the morning even though Murphy will yell at her for it. All she has energy for is brushing her teeth before changing into a t-shirt and falling into her unmade bed.

Closing her eyes, she tries to ignore how her heart physically aches. She tries to ignore the brown eyes and freckles, the black curls, imprinted on the back of her eyelids like a work of art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Don't drink/smoke and drive. These kids are stupid. Don't be these kids.


	3. Unforgettable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Big thanks for the patience with this update, I know it's been a LONG time. Although this chapter and the next were prompted via the BLM initiative, I'm going to alternate WIP updates with BLM prompts moving forward so there won't be anymore ridiculously long waits between chapters.
> 
> This chapter is track 2 of Bellamy's album and the song is 'Unforgettable' by Thomas Rhett. You can listen to the whole playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5x2LpQY16DsHjnDw6TMdqN?si=F1vLB_nbQZizyetQx3Tk5g), but I'm updating it as I go so there are no spoilers. The songs are both Bellamy's official album songs and other songs featured in the fic. 
> 
> Another quick update: I created a carrd (which includes a link to my fic publishing schedule) and some other stuff I'm working on. You can check it out [here](https://burninghoneyatdusk.carrd.co/). 
> 
> This chapter was prompted via t100 Fic for Black Lives Matter, where myself and other writers and creators are accepting prompts in exchange for donations to organizations that support the BLM cause. You can learn more about it via our [carrd](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). If you'd like to submit a prompt but are unsure of what to prompt, our writers and creators have come up with a ton of awesome prompts for all ships - you can check them out [here](https://www.notion.so/t100-Fic-for-BLM-Prompt-Ideas-b71c84406c884099a9682133636abc09)! 
> 
> \----  
> Note: I wanted to address the fact that while this fic is based on the song Chasin' You by Morgan Wallen, I obviously think he's a racist pos and I don't endorse him at all. Unfortunately I started this fic before that happened and can't change the whole fic without scrapping it completely. None of his other songs will be featured in this fic.

In her dreams, Clarke is back in Arkadia. At first, everything seems normal. But then, Clarke suddenly remembers that she’s late for the bus leaving for their away game. She quickly packs up her duffle bag, already in her cheer uniform, before running out of the house. Only, when she gets to the school, she’s wearing jeans and a tank top, her uniform no where to be found. She repeats some version of this over and over again - chasing after something that leaves her behind, all because she wasn’t prepared for it. 

A banging startles her from her dreams, but her heart is still racing as she opens her eyes. Groaning, her hand moves to her head, already pounding. She shuts her eyes again. 

“Griffin!”

Clarke blinks her groggy eyes open and rolls over to find Murphy at her open bedroom door. 

“What do you want?” she groans, flopping back down onto her bed. 

“It’s ten, and you told me you have a hospital shift at eleven.”

“Fuck,” she sighs. “Okay.”

Clarke closes her eyes again, listening to Murphy’s footsteps walk away. Her mouth is dry, her head pounding. The vomiting, followed by the shots, the wine, the cigarettes, and of course, the tears that are still dried on her cheeks, were a terrible combination. Put simply, she feels like absolute shit. In some ways, it’s welcome. Her physical pains distract her from the way her heart is still aching, Bellamy’s voice still coursing through her veins like a dangerous drug.

Sighing, Clarke throws her blankets off and heads straight for the shower. Her mind is a million miles away as she scrubs her hair and the old makeup off her face. It isn’t just Bellamy on her mind, but everything else that his voice carries - her childhood, her dreams, her parents...perhaps most of all, her failures. A stark reminder that she’s nowhere close to where she thought she’d be by now. A stark reminder that her life wasn’t always what it is now. Sometimes she can pretend it’s always been this way, when she doesn’t think too hard about it. Bellamy’s voice violently uncovered all the memories she’s worked hard to bury and neatly fold away over the years. 

After she changes, Clarke walks into their small galley and warms the rest of the coffee from the pot that Murphy made in the microwave. 

“Where’s Raven?” Clarke asks, wandering into the living room as the microwave runs. Murphy and Emori are laying on the couch, Emori’s legs slung over Murphy’s. Some reality show Clarke doesn’t recognize is playing on their old television that Raven picked up at a garage sale six months ago after someone broke their old one during Emori’s birthday party.

“At the library. Her midterm exams are coming up next week.”

“Oh right.” The microwave beeps and Clarke retrieves her mug, pouring the coffee into an old tumbler. Clarke has always admired Raven. She never seems to let anything hold her back, and her education is no different. Raven is on track to graduate next year, in spite of all the shit she went through to get to where she is today. Clarke can’t say the same. At 24, she feels like she’s floating in a weird state of stasis instead, waiting for something to happen to her rather than  _ making _ something happen. 

“See you guys later,” Clarke calls over her shoulder, putting her headphones on as soon as she’s in the hallway of their apartment. She doesn’t listen to anything as she leaves the building and walks the block to the bus station, knowing she wants the song - whatever comes next - to have her full attention.

Clarke lucks out and gets a window seat on the bus. Staring out the window, she finally hits play on the second song on his album.

* * *

_It was the 14th of October_   
_Had that t-shirt off your shoulder_   
_I was drunk, said I was sober_   
_And you said yeah right_   
_We were talkin' for a minute_   
_Then some guy tried to cut in_   
_You took my hand and we pretended_   
_Like I was your guy_   
  
_Oh, then I tried to guess your middle name_   
_For 30 minutes bet we played that game_   
  
_That mango-rita you were drinkin'_   
_And that Coldplay song that you were singin'_   
_And I bet right now you're probably thinkin'_   
_That it's crazy I remember every detail, but I do_   
_From your blue jeans to your shoes_   
_Girl, that night was just like you_   
_Unforgettable_   
  
_We were dancin', we were buzzin'_   
_Takin' shots like it was nothin'_   
_Did the runnin' man, you loved it_   
_Yeah, you laughed out loud_   
_You brushed away your blonde hair_   
_And you kissed me out of nowhere_   
_I can still show you the spot_   
_Where everything went down_   
  
_Oh, I told you I was gonna marry you_   
_You probably didn't think that it was true_   
  
_That mango-rita you were drinkin'_   
_And that Coldplay song that you were singin'_   
_And I bet right now you're probably thinkin'_   
_That it's crazy I remember every detail, but I do_   
_I can still smell your perfume_   
_Girl, that night was just like you_   
_Unforgettable_   
  
_Oh, that night was just like you, baby_   
_I can taste the mango-rita you were drinkin'_   
_And it feels just like it was last weekend_   
_That we jumped in_   
_Right off the deep end_   
  
_That mango-rita you were drinkin'_   
_And that Coldplay song that you were singin'_   
_And I bet right now you're probably thinkin'_   
_That it's crazy I remember every detail, but I do_   
_I can still smell your perfume_   
_Girl, that night was just like you_   
_Unforgettable_   
  
_From your blue jeans to your shoes_   
_Girl, that night was just like you_   
_Unforgettable_

* * *

“Hey,” Harper scolds as Clarke takes the drink out of her hand.

“Mine’s gone,” Clarke whines, batting her blue eyes at her friend as she takes a generous sip from the plastic souvenir lemonade cup. 

Harper gives her a good-natured eye roll and lets her take another sip before taking it back. 

The summer had passed in the same way that a summer day does - lazy beginnings and nights that seem to end in the blink of an eye. Despite the school year being around the corner, Clarke is in good spirits. Not even her sore muscles from her cheer pre-season double practice sessions can dampen her mood.

Now, Clarke is walking down the street with her friends through the town’s annual end of summer festival. With the tempting scent of fried food and the promise of a fun night ahead of her, it’s hard not to be happy. It being late afternoon, the festival is slowing down and the day is giving way to those strange hours between the craft tents packing up and the cover band - the same one the town has booked since 1992 - setting up at the makeshift stage in the parking lot behind main street. 

“Are you guys going home for dinner?” Bree asks from Harper’s other side.

“My mom is making me,” Mel tells them, rolling her eyes.

“I’m free,” Roma pipes in from Clarke’s other side. “My mom’s distracted with the new boyfriend, I’ve got my sweet, sweet freedom.”

Clarke knows that Roma is more bothered by her mother’s antics than she shows, but she can’t deny that freedom sounds pretty nice right about now. 

“I have to go home too,” Clarke tells them. “But we’re barbecuing with the Jahas, so at least I’ll have Wells.”

“You guys want to come by my place around seven? Before the concert?” Roma asks. 

Everyone agrees to meet at Roma’s and echoes their goodbyes, dispersing in opposite directions. Clarke slurps the watered down lemonade at the bottom of her cup, courtesy of the hot Tennessee sun melting her ice within minutes. She takes a deep breath, loving the smell of the grass and the warm breeze, especially while she’s walking under the shady cover of the trees lining the sidewalk. Even moving at a leisurely, if not reluctant, pace, it only takes her about ten minutes to walk home given how close her house is to the center of town. 

Clarke doesn’t bother going through the house, and instead walks through the side yard that separates her house from the Jahas’, finding both their families already in her backyard. Wells is sitting at the patio table with her mother and his mother, Daisy. Her dad and Thelonius are at the grill, each holding a beer. 

“You’re late,” her mom tells her, by way of greeting. 

“I’m right on time - Wells is just early.”

“Early is on time,” Wells responds, offering a smug smirk. 

“Suck up,” Clarke taunts, sticking her tongue out at him as she sits down at the table across from him. 

“Honestly, Clarke,” her mother sighs, even as Daisy laughs. Clarke has always been a little jealous of how easy-going Wells’s mother is. Then again, she supposes that she’s never had a reason not to be when her kid is Wells. Wells fixes problems, while Clarke causes them. That’s just how it’s always been. 

Ten minutes later, everyone is gathered around the table, eating burgers, Daisy’s famous corn bean salsa, her father’s potato salad, and a salad. 

“How was it downtown?” her mother asks, just as Clarke is washing down a bite of her burger with her glass of sweet tea.

“Same old,” Wells says. “I did a lap with Mbege, Bellamy, and Pascal, and we grabbed lunch.”

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks, as soon as she swallows. She’s going for nonchalant, unaffected, but by the glint in Wells’s eye, she knows she failed. 

“Yeah...what about him?” Wells asks. Everyone at the table turns to face Clarke, all wearing curious expressions. 

“Nothing,” she says quickly, even as her traitorous fair skin displays her flushed cheeks all too easily. “I just wasn’t sure if I heard you right, that’s all,” she adds, channeling all her focus into stabbing at her potato salad.

“Okay…” Wells responds, clearly not believing her. “So you don’t care that he mentioned you?”

“He did?” Clarke asks, face popping up to look at Wells again. 

From his expression, she immediately knows that he’s teasing her. She scowls at him, picking up a dirty, crumpled napkin with every intention of throwing it at him, but her mother takes it out of her hand before she can. Thankfully, Daisy swats at her son on Clarke’s behalf, scolding his teasing. She would appreciate the defense if she weren’t mortified by the fact that both her parents and the Jahas are now privy to the embarrassing crush she can’t seem to shake. 

“Damn, these burgers are as good as ever, Jake,” Thelonius starts. The change in topic is clearly purposeful but Clarke is thankful for it. She manages to give Wells a swift kick under the table before she happily bites into her burger, smiling at his pained grunt.

\--∞--

“I don’t like him!”

“Why are you denying it? You’re never shy about crushes. At least not to me.”

Because, Clarke thinks, Bellamy has absolutely no interest in her, and it’s a little embarrassing if she’s being honest. After the 4th of July, Clarke couldn’t stop thinking of him, even though she couldn’t exactly place  _ why _ . He intrigues her, and then of course, she also can’t ignore just how good he looks running drills at practice while the cheerleading team is practicing nearby. The problem is, Bellamy still keeps his distance from her. They saw each other at parties throughout the summer, and sometimes even chatted. But to her disappointment, nothing had really changed - well, except for her own cursed feelings. 

“I’m not denying it, you’re just making things up in your head,” she argues, knocking him with her shoulder. She takes a sip from her souvenir lemonade cup, now filled with a dangerous ratio of whiskey and coke. 

“Well, I think he’s coming to Roma’s before the concert too,” Wells tries. 

“Would you drop it?” Clarke scowls, even as her heart races at his words. She’s got to snap out of this.

Most people are already at Roma’s house given that the Jahas and her parents kept them later than they wanted. Bellamy is already there, playing beer pong with Atom, as well as the rest of Clarke’s friends. She studiously avoids Bellamy and Atom, walking straight over to join Harper and Mel who are talking on the back deck.

The night flies by like most summer nights do. They all head over to the concert, drunk but not dangerously so, as to not alert any parents. Then again, on the night of the festival, most parents are as drunk as them, if not drunker. Small towns are known for gossip and everyone knowing everything, but there’s a certain easiness to them too. Things slip through the cracks, simply because people don’t care to pay too close attention. Like so many things in small towns, parents often practice the  _ ignorance is bliss  _ philosophy when it comes to the activities of their children, just as their parents had with them. 

Clarke is spinning and dancing in a crowd of familiar bodies while the cover band’s rendition of  _ Heads Carolina, Tails California _ vibrated through the crowd. Her forehead and the back of her neck are covered in a sheen of sweat, but she’s having too much fun to care. 

_Baby, what do you say we just get lost?_   
_Leave this one horse townlike two rebels without a cause._   
_I got people in Boston._   
_Ain't your daddy still in Des Moines?_   
_We can pack up tomorrow._   
_Tonight, let's flip a coin_

Clarke loves moments like these. She loves when she can get lost in the moment, when she can have fun without overthinking her every action. With everyone drunk and dancing around her, it’s easy to temper her feelings of insecurity that lurk under the surface during the day, even if it’s only temporary. She drowns in the presence of everyone around her, finally blending into somewhere she feels at peace.

_Heads, Carolina, Tails, California._   
_Somewhere greener, somewhere warmer._   
_Up in the mountains, down by the ocean._   
_Where? It don't matter, as long as we're goin'_   
_Somewhere together. I've got a quarter._   
_Heads, Carolina, Tails, California_

As the song ends, Clarke glances towards the edges of the crowd. The people dancing in front of the makeshift parking lot stage are surrounded by older people and parents, drinking cans of Budlights in their lawn chairs. When her eyes sweep over the people, her gaze doubles back on Bellamy, who is sitting on the curb alone. 

Clarke knows that alcohol is the only reason she’s feeling bold enough to push her way through the crowd towards him, but it’s not like she’s drunk enough to do something stupid. She just wants to talk to him, like when they were stuck in his truck together. 

He looks up at her when he realizes that she’s approaching him and even in the dark, Clarke can see how wary his expression is. She rolls her eyes at that, but Bellamy must be able to see her face just as easily, because he chuckles as she sits down on the curb next to him.

“What was that for?” he asks. 

“You looked like a bible salesman was approaching you.”

Bellamy lets out a surprised laugh. “I’m not sure you and a bible salesman have much in common.”

If Clarke’s cheeks weren’t already flushed from the alcohol and dancing, they would have flushed at that comment. She’s not exactly sure how to take it, but it seems to imply...something.

“Except maybe that you always seem want something,” he adds. 

Clarke can’t totally blame him for making that assumption. She has a bit of a reputation for scheming, and generally being in the center of...everything. Bellamy, on the other hand, prefers the sidelines. Maybe he assumed she would try to drag him onto the dance floor with her, but in reality, Clarke sometimes prefers the sidelines too. Sometimes, she just needs to catch her breath. 

“You don’t dance?” Clarke asks, changing the topic. 

“Not if I can help it.”

“Only singing, but no dancing? Not Troy Bolton after all.”

“If that’s true, maybe you’ll stop calling me that.”

Clarke is quiet for a beat. “Does it really bother you?” she asks. She suddenly feels terrible at the prospect of her teasing genuinely bothering him. Thankfully, Bellamy chuckles in response.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I really don’t care.” 

Before Clarke can respond, the band starts playing  _ Midnight Rider _ . Clarke doesn’t miss how Bellamy seems to perk up at the song. 

“You like this song?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

“But you still won’t dance to it?”

“Nope,” he chuckles. 

“I like it too,” she tells him. “It’s one of my dad’s favorites, he played it all the time when I was growing up. Still does.”

“Well that makes sense that you love it - it is about running away. That seems to be your passion,” he teases.

“Hey,” she starts. “I’m running towards something, not away from something.”

Bellamy turns and smiles at her, his expression more genuine than the teasing one he was wearing only seconds ago.

“I actually have the original vinyl for this,” he tells her, after a beat. 

“Yeah? That’s awesome.”

“You can borrow it sometime, if you want,” he shrugs.

Clarke’s smile grows against her will. “Okay.”

\--∞--

Clarke sleeps in the next morning and spends most of the day getting organized for the first day of her junior year the next day. She feels eager to get back to school, and always has. While the freedom of summer is nice in some ways, it’s also a little monotonous after two months of it. She’s sure that she’ll change her tune as soon as the schoolwork starts piling up, but for now, she’s excited. Besides, she’s officially one step closer to getting out of this nowhere town, and that’s certainly something to be celebrated. 

It’s nearly 6pm when Clarke finishes dinner, and after helping clean up, she tells her mother she’s going to hang out with Harper. She isn’t necessarily sure why she’s even lying about it - it’s not like she’s going to do something  _ bad _ . But if she tells her mom that she’s going to see Bellamy, her mom is going to ask questions that she doesn’t have the answers to, never mind the fact she doesn’t want to share them. 

Clarke is nervous as she pushes her bike onto the road. She didn’t tell Bellamy she was going to drop by to borrow the vinyl. Maybe he was more drunk than she thought and will find it strange when she shows up at the house. Maybe he was only joking, or doesn’t even remember their conversation. Maybe Clarke really  _ should  _ just go to Harper’s house and forget this whole thing. But as she hops onto her bike, she knows she has to try. Because this is her chance to...well, she isn’t even sure. It just feels like an opportunity that she can’t pass up.

The town is peaceful at this time in the evening. It being August, the sun is still in the sky, but the light is more subtle, the streets more shadowed, as the day fades into dusk. Bellamy’s house is only a ten minute bike ride and Clarke doesn’t see many people around as she makes her way to his side of town. There are a few people on walks - some with babies, some with dogs - but Clarke doesn’t see anyone she knows. 

She realizes that her heart is pounding as she slows down in front of his house. It’s absolutely ridiculous and she rolls her eyes at herself as kicks down her bike’s kickstand, leaving it in the driveway and walking up to his house. The Blakes don’t have a doorbell, so Clarke knocks on the wood of their screen door, the door behind it left wide open. A second later, Bellamy shows up at the door. It isn’t until that very moment that she realizes how awkward it would have been if his mom or sister answered the door instead. 

“Clarke?” he asks, opening the door. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I was just on my way back from Harper’s, and remembered you said I could borrow that vinyl.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to respond, but Clarke cuts him off.

“If that’s still alright, of course,” she adds. “If not, that’s fine too.” She digs her nails into her palms, silently berating herself for how flustered she’s getting. This is  _ Bellamy Blake _ , the guy she’s known since she was five. He’s just a guy - nothing special about him.

Bellamy bites down a smile, as if amused by her rambling. “Yeah, of course,” he answers, opening the door wider. “Come on in, I’ll grab it from upstairs.”

Clarke steps past Bellamy into a hallway. Despite knowing Bellamy since they were five, she’s never actually been in his house. Bellamy has never hosted their friends, never had a party here. Clarke hasn’t had more than birthday sleepovers at her own house, but she has strict parents who are home more often than not. Given that his mom works two jobs and she’s sure his sister has her own friends to hang out with, it’s kind of surprising he’s never thrown a party and she now wonders why that is.

“Who’s at the door?” his mother calls from somewhere in the house.

Bellamy nods for Clarke to follow him through their living room and towards the kitchen in the back of their house. She’s regretting this decision more with each passing minute. 

“Clarke is borrowing my  _ Midnight Rider _ vinyl,” Bellamy tells her, before turning back to Clarke. “I’ll be right back,” he says, promptly leaving her alone in the kitchen with his mother and sister. 

Awkwardly shifting on her feet, Clarke decides  _ definitely _ regrets this. Overall, she isn’t bad with parents. In fact, she usually manages to charm all her friends’ parents with relative ease. But Clarke can’t remember the last time she had a conversation with Bellamy’s mom. Maybe in the fourth grade, when Bellamy was in her class and his mom brought in cookies for his birthday? It’s definitely been a while.

“How are you, honey?” his mom asks her, voice warm. She’s mixing some kind of batter in a large bowl and bacon is sizzling in a pan on the stove. Despite having eaten less than an hour ago, Clarke can’t deny how amazing it smells. Octavia, Bellamy’s twelve year old sister, is sitting at the kitchen table, curious eyes on Clarke.

“Oh, I’m good. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner, Mrs. Blake.”

“Nonsense,” she smiles. “And Aurora is just fine.”

“It smells amazing,” Clarke adds, unsure of what else to say.

“On Sundays, we have breakfast for dinner,” Octavia tells her, speaking for the first time.

“Oh,” Clarke smiles. “That sounds fun.”

“You should stay for dinner,” Aurora tells her, dumping half a bag of chocolate chips into the batter. “We always have plenty,” she assures her, just as Bellamy walks into the kitchen holding the record. 

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude - and I already ate,” she answers, sparing a glance at Bellamy. She half expects him to give his mother a warning glare for inviting her, but he’s already looking at her. 

“It’s not an intrusion at all,” he tells her.

“Besides,” Aurora adds. “We’re having pancakes, so you can consider it dessert.”

Bellamy laughs, setting the record down on the counter. “That’s true.”

“Okay, sure,” Clarke agrees. 

Clarke helps Bellamy set the table and within fifteen minutes, they’re all sitting around it, digging into the food. Aurora put strawberries in the pancakes, along with the chocolate chips, and Clarke thinks they might be the best pancakes that she’s ever tasted. She also takes a few pieces of bacon, even though she can’t claim that it’s dessert like the pancakes. Even the homemade orange juice that Aurora made tastes divine. Clarke can’t help but smile when she thinks about how her mom would tut at the idea of pancakes for dinner, whereas Aurora makes it a fun weekly event. 

As they eat and talk, Clarke feels herself loosen up. She’s not a shy person, so it’s certainly not that strange, but the Blakes are so easy going and open that it makes Clarke feel like she can be herself without holding back. It helps that all of the Blakes are pretty talkative, none of them quiet or stiff. Clarke entertains them with a story from cheer practice last week and she can’t help but smile wider when she notices how she makes Bellamy laugh. She loves that laugh a little too much.

Nearly an hour later, they all help clear the table. 

“Um - where’s the bathroom?” Clarke asks. “I’m just going to wash up.”

“Second door on the right,” Bellamy tells her, nodding towards the hallway. 

Clarke finds it easily, shutting the door. She feels so strangely light and happy, and for the first time, she wonders if Bellamy isn’t totally opposed to...well, her. More specifically, kissing her. Dating her. Being  _ something  _ with her. Clarke leaves the bathroom, making her way down the hallway and back towards the kitchen. Still in the hallway, she pauses next to the doorway when she hears Bellamy and his mother talking.

“Clarke Griffin? That’s new.”

“She’s just borrowing the record,” Bellamy tells her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Whatever you say.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Really. We’re just friends - that’s all.”

Clarke tries not to let the disappointment that swells in her chest overcome her. If anything, this is for the best. At least now she knows what this is. Besides, it’s not so terrible. He did call her his  _ friend _ , so...well, that’s what this is now. Now she knows. 

“She’s so pretty,” Octavia adds. “She probably wouldn’t even like you.”

Clarke can’t help but smile at the comment, even though it couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Knock it off, O.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Clarke walks back into the kitchen, interrupting the siblings’ squabbling.

“Thanks again for having me,” she tells Aurora, picking the record up off the counter. Even though it was her excuse for coming here, she really is excited to listen to it. Although maybe that’s because Bellamy likes the song too, and it’s something they now share.

“Of course, hon,” Aurora tells her, surprising Clarke by pulling her in for a hug. “You’re welcome here anytime.” Clarke waves goodbye to Octavia before Bellamy walks her to the door.

“Thanks again, for this,” she tells him, holding up the vinyl.

“Yeah,” Bellamy answers. He runs his hand through his hair, appearing nervous for the first time since she showed up. The conversation with his mother and sister probably made him uncomfortable. “No problem.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond before turning around, making her way down the porch steps and back to her bike.

\--∞--

The first Thursday of the school year, Clarke is spending the 45 minutes between the end of the school day and the start of practice in the art room. She almost always has the room to herself, given that most kids spend the free period hanging out together outside or at most, working on homework in the library. Sometimes Lincoln is around, but he has a faculty meeting today, so it’s only Clarke.

“Hey.”

Clarke looks up in surprise when she finds Bellamy standing at the open doorway. His guitar case is on his back, and Clarke tries to smother the butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the sight of him. 

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Well, you said this room has the best breeze. I had to find out if you were lying.”

Clarke’s smile widens. “Well, you’re welcome to try it. On a trial basis of course.”

“Of course,” Bellamy laughs, finally walking into the room. “Sure you don’t mind?” he asks, setting his guitar case down on the large table next to the one she’s working at.

Clarke shakes her head. “Just don’t write anything that sucks.”

Bellamy laughs again. “I’ll do my best.”

When the 45 minutes ends and they both have to leave for practice, Bellamy admits that the art room has the better breeze. He doesn’t go to the music room anymore after that.

\--∞--

As the school begins and August surrenders to September, Clarke is surprised to realize that Bellamy’s words to his mother were true. While she was disappointed that he only wanted to be friends, she can’t help but be relieved that he genuinely meant it when he said that they’re friends.

It starts with them spending every free period between school and practice in the art room together. Even though they’ve always eaten at the same lunch table, Clarke realizes that while they used to be at opposite ends of it, they’ve begun to gravitate closer to one another, now always in each others’ immediate vicinity while they eat. They also end up at the same library tables during their study halls - sometimes Clarke joins him, and sometimes he joins Clarke. 

At parties, they end up hanging out a decent amount. Enough so that Clarke’s friends begin to ask her about him. She assures them that nothing is going on between them by using the same words that Bellamy used. 

_ We’re just friends - that’s all. _

Clarke truly means it too. Sure, her crush hasn’t gone away. But she’s accepted that he doesn’t feel the same way and is trying her best to get over him by seeking out others. The problem is that at the end of the night, she almost always ends gravitating back towards Bellamy. He’s just more interesting to talk to, and just makes her laugh more. It’s not her fault that no one else is be able to live up to that. 

On the bus rides to away games, Clarke always hangs out with her girl friends. They play music that the guys complain about and Clarke feeds off everyone’s energy, focused on her excitement for the game. But now, on the rides back to Arkadia, she almost always sits next to Bellamy, one of his headphones in her ear. 

The first time, she simply walked to the back of the bus and sat next to him without a word. He seemed a little confused, but she took out his left earbud and put it in her own ear. 

“I’m not changing the song,” he warned her. 

Clarke shrugged, but said nothing. She didn’t mind. In fact, given how much he loves music, she liked discovering what he was listening to. Now, only weeks away from sectionals, she’s done this so many times that when she wanders back to his seat, he simply takes out his earbud and hands it to her without a word. They sit together, arm pressed against arm, listening to the music in silence. Sometimes, when she’s feeling particularly tired, she rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. He never stops her. 

\--∞--

Clarke wakes up on the morning of October 14th still buzzing with excitement from the football game the night before. Arkadia won in a close game and made it to the semi-finals, which will be played next Friday night. Tonight, they’re going to a tailgate party organized by some guys from a neighboring school. There are probably going to be people from schools across their county there and Clarke can’t wait. 

She hums as she stretches out her whole body before rolling onto her side and grabs her phone off her bedside table.

**_Clarke:_ ** _ Can I get a ride to the party tonight? _

**_Bellamy:_ ** _ Sure, Princess. Chariot will be there at 8. _

Clarke smirks at his answer. She’s well aware that the nickname  _ Princess _ is dripping in sarcasm, but that kind of makes it even better. Bellamy never falls at her feet like some of the guys in her class do when she gives them the time of day, and it’s just another reason that she can’t seem to shake her crush - the crush she’s sure Wells will bring up when she tells him that she doesn’t need a ride because she’s riding with Bellamy instead. She’ll lie through her teeth and tell him that Bree’s car is full, and that she just happened to mention that to Bellamy, and that he offered a ride. It’s a little pathetic, sure, but it beats Wells’s teasing.

**_Clarke:_ ** _ I’ll meet you at your house, my parents think I’m going to Mel’s house. _

Bellamy only sends a thumbs up emoji in response. 

A few minutes before 8pm, Clarke checks her reflection in her full-length mirror. Her parents think she was going to a bonfire and then spending the night at Mel’s house, but in reality, everyone will probably end up sleeping in cars and truck beds, too drunk to drive home tonight. She’s wearing her high-waisted Levi’s and a plain white cropped t-shirt that shows a sliver of her midriff. Her outfit is paired with her old converse sneakers. She’s well aware they’ll be covered in dirt by tomorrow morning, so sandals or flip flops would be an ill-advised decision. She grabs her olive green bomber jacket on her way out the door, just in case. It will probably be warm enough that she won’t need it anyway. Wishing her parents goodbye, she skips down her porch steps and over to her bike, making her way to Bellamy’s house. 

Clarke is a few minutes late and finds Bellamy leaning against his truck when she rolls up to his driveway.

“Sorry,” she tells him, hopping off her bike. 

“It’s fine,” Bellamy shrugs, looking up at her. His voice sounds strange but the sun has already gone down and with only his porch light on, it’s too dark to read his face. “Ready?”

Clarke nods, taking off her backpack and throwing it on the truck bench between them as they get in the car. Bellamy chuckles when he hears the clatter of bottles and cans inside of it. 

“Come prepared or something?”

“Like you didn’t?” Clarke doesn’t doubt that it’s beer under the blanket in his truck bed, and guesses that he’s probably got a bottle of whiskey somewhere in the car too. 

Bellamy only smirks as he looks into the rearview mirror and pulls out of his driveway. He throws his arm over the back of her seat as he looks behind them and Clarke’s stomach swoops, the simple gesture giving her goosebumps. She distracts herself by turning up the radio, the local country station already playing. Listening to the song in silence, she turns to look out the open window. The breeze whips her wavy hair around more than she’d like, but Bellamy’s truck doesn’t have AC and so they really can’t put the windows up. It was messy hair or showing up soaked in sweat - she’d take the former. 

_ You could have driven with Wells _ , a nagging voice reminds her.  _ His truck is comfortable, and has AC _ .

She spares a glance at Bellamy as the song ends and swallows thickly, her mouth suddenly dry. He’s wearing a plain navy t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, the flannel button up he brought with him tossed on the bench between them with Clarke’s backpack. His hair is just long enough that the breeze ruffles his thick curls. Thankfully, the tune of the next song distracts her before he can catch her staring. 

“I  _ love  _ this one,” she says as she cranks the radio up, unable to hide her excitement. 

_Baby I can't stop thinking 'bout last night_   
_Still taste your kiss, still taste the wine_   
_Tryna turn this ten minute drive to five_   
_Oh, I've been_   
_Daydreaming 'bout you all day long_   
_Radio's been playing all our songs_   
_Just read your message on my phone_   
_It's turning me on_

Clarke rocks in her seat as she starts singing along to the chorus. “When you say you need me, and you just got to see me, and all you want is me right now, oh baby just wait a minute.”

Bellamy laughs, smiling widely. To her surprise he starts singing along with her.

_ If you're in the bed stay in it  
I'm about to dive on in it  
Got to got to get you closer  
I'm about to bring it on over _

Both their voices layer over the radio, but Clarke stops singing when she truly hears Bellamy for the first time, turning to him with wide eyes. This time he notices her staring - or maybe he just notices that she stopped singing and dancing.

“What?” he chuckles, glancing at her as he turns down the volume. 

“You’re  _ good _ .”

Clarke swears his cheeks flush, but with Bellamy’s darker complexion, it’s hard to tell. “I can carry a tune,” he shrugs, eyes trained on the road. 

“ _ No _ ,” Clarke argues emphatically. “ _ I  _ can carry a tune. You - you’ve got an amazing voice.”

Clarke certainly isn’t exaggerating. She doesn’t have an awful voice, isn’t tone deaf and doesn’t make anyone want to jump out of a moving vehicle, but she would never claim she’s  _ good _ . Bellamy...he’s something else entirely. 

Clarke turns the music back up when Bellamy says nothing and starts singing along again. 

“Girl let's pick up where we left off, a little more love, a lot less talk, ‘bout to hear my footsteps down your hall, hang on-”

Clarke stops again when she realizes Bellamy isn’t singing along anymore. “C’mon,” she urges. “Sing to me, Paolo.”

Bellamy’s shoulders shake with laughter before he looks over at her, unable to dampen his smile. “First  _ High School Musical _ , and now  _ Lizzie McGuire _ ? Really?”

“And you know all of them,” Clarke teases, her own smile widening. 

Bellamy shakes his head, but he does start singing along with her again, fingers drumming along on his steering wheel. 

_When you say you need me_   
_And you just got to see me_   
_And all you want is me right now_   
_Oh baby just wait a minute_   
_If you're in the bed stay in it_   
_I'm about to dive on in it_   
_Got to got to get you closer_   
_I'm about to bring it on over_

\--∞--

Clarke and Bellamy are in good spirits by the time he turns onto the dirt road that runs through an enormous field. Although, it’s less of a road and more just a section of the field that has been driven over so many times that all the grass died. They’d spent the rest of the thirty minute drive singing along to the radio, but Bellamy turns the music down as they approach the tree-line on the other side of the field. Out of view from the road, they drive up to dozens upon dozens of other trucks and cars parked along the tree-line, along with a couple of bonfires. There are already at least fifty people here, music blasting from someone’s real speakers rather than car ones that are usually playing at parties on the riverbank.

Once Bellamy parks the truck, Clarke pulls out one of the Mangoritas from her backpack, along with her flask full of Southern Comfort. Clarke barely has time to climb out of the truck before Roma and Bree are at her side greeting her. She glances at Bellamy over her shoulder, finding that he’s already wandered over to where some of the guys are hanging out by Pascal’s car. She steels herself, refusing to let her pining over Bellamy ruin her night, and turns back towards her friends. 

They spend the next couple hours drinking and dancing, floating from group to group as the night goes on. Clarke is truly having fun, the only thing dampening her night being some guy who seems unable to take a hint. He introduced himself as Ilian, a football player from Polis, and Clarke  _ should  _ want to talk to him. He’s hot and aside from the fact he’s a bit intense in the way he pursuing her, he seems nice enough. But it just isn’t who she really wants, and she isn’t in the mood to pretend. Drinking with her girlfriends is a more tempting way to forget about her crush on Bellamy than hanging out with some guy she doesn’t know. 

Eventually, Clarke breaks away from her friends and wanders back over to Bellamy’s truck where she left her water bottle. She’s chugging a few gulps when she sees Bellamy walking over to her. He’s smiling, hands in his pocket, and Clarke tilts her head at the carefree, nearly giddy, expression on his face as he walks up to her. It’s an unusual look on him. 

“Hi,” she laughs. “Having fun?”

“So much.” He’s not quite slurring, but his words are long and drawn out, lazy like a summer afternoon.

“You’re  _ drunk _ ,” she teases. 

It’s not that Clarke expected Bellamy to be sober, but he never seems to drink as much as everyone else. He’s more careful, more reserved, and Clarke isn’t sure what made him change his ways tonight of all nights.

“No, I’m not.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah right,” she quips, reaching up to toss her water bottle into the bed of his truck. Her shirt shifts when she does, falling off her shoulder. Clarke looks up at Bellamy just as his gaze drops to the bare skin of her shoulder, expression unreadable and eyes dark...although maybe Clarke is imagining that. 

“Clarke.”

Clarke turns quickly, broken from her trance, and finds Ilian walking over to them. She sighs, clenching her jaw so that she doesn’t roll her eyes at him. 

“Hi,” she says shortly. Ilian smiles at her, completely ignoring Bellamy’s presence. Before she can think better of it, she grabs Bellamy’s hand, interlacing their fingers and sending up a silent prayer that he doesn’t do something embarrassing like shake her off. He surprises her when he grips her hand tighter without a word.

“This is my boyfriend, Bellamy,” she tells him, leaning closer to Bellamy. For being drunker than usual, Bellamy is pretty smooth in his response.

“Hey, man,” he greets Ilian casually, nodding at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah you too,” Ilian responds easily, although the disappointment is clear on his face. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll catch you guys later.”

Clarke watches Ilian walk away, her hand heavy in Bellamy’s. The feel of his thumb running along hers brings her back to the present, although Clarke is sure it must have been a mistake. She untangles their hands with a sigh, leaning against the back of his truck.

“Thanks. He’s been after me all night.”

Bellamy laughs. “No problem. Fake boyfriend at your assistance, Princess.”

Clarke shakes her head, rolling her eyes fondly at him. “You never used to call me that,” she points out.

Bellamy shrugs, leaning back against the truck beside her, arm brushing hers. “I could tell you liked the attention and didn’t want to indulge you, but now that I can piss you off when I tease you about it, it’s pretty fun.”

“You asshole,” she laughs, knocking his shoulder. Bellamy laughs, ducking his head. 

“I don’t hate it, actually,” she adds, a beat later.

“Well I better stop calling you that then.”

“Asshole.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Well it’s true.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Clarke takes the opportunity to sip her second Mangorita that she’s nearly done with. Bellamy takes a long sip from his can of Budlight. 

“So...why aren’t you interested in that guy?”

_ You _ , she thinks immediately. 

“I don’t know...just not,” she shrugs. 

“Maybe your standards are too high,” he teases. 

Clarke laughs. The irony of his statement feels like an inside joke she can’t share with anyone but herself. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Bellamy chuckles, shooting her a crooked smile that makes her stomach flip. “I’m just kidding. You  _ should _ have high standards. You’re awesome - high maintenance and all.”

Clarke purses her lips, biting down a smile. “I’m going to choose to take that as compliment.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Princess.”

“Clarke Princess Griffin,” Clarke says slowly. “I don’t hate it,” she shrugs. 

Bellamy laughs. “Of course you don’t.”

“It’s better than my real middle name.”

“I can’t imagine that  _ Princess  _ would be better than any middle name.”

“It’s true,” Clarke assures him, taking another sip. 

“What is it?”

“Like I’m telling you! You just told me you only call me Princess to piss me off.”

Bellamy laughs, clearly pleased with himself for riling her up so easily. He pushes off the truck and puts the tailgate down, sitting down a minute later. Clarke follows. 

“If I guess it, will you tell me?”

“No.”

“That’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Bellamy smirks at that. “Is this the love or the war part of that?”

Clarke glowers at him, hoping that he thinks her flushed cheeks are due to the alcohol. “War.  _ Obviously. _ ” 

“Obviously. So is it Frances? Barbara?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Dolores?”

Clarke laughs, shaking her head at him. She doesn’t know how long he goes on like that. Eventually, she puts him out his misery...a little. 

“It’s my mom’s surname, you’ll never guess it.”

Bellamy gapes at her, throwing her a look of fake offense. “You couldn’t have told me that from the beginning?”

“You did this to yourself.”

“Bellamy!” Jasper calls over to them. “Clarke! Come on, we’re doing shots!”

“We’ve been summoned,” Bellamy tells her, still not moving. She isn’t sure if she should read into the fact that he seems as reluctant to leave his truck as she feels. 

She laughs, making the first move by hopping off the tailgate. “Come on. Sounds like we shouldn’t keep them waiting.

The party gets even more rowdy as the night goes on. It’s a bit of a blur, a mix of shots and sipping on other drinks, dancing to the mix of country and top 40 that the speakers are playing. To Clarke’s surprise, Bellamy actually dances with the rest of them. After finding out he has an amazing voice in addition to being able to write songs and play the guitar, she thought there might be nothing that he’s bad at. His dancing proves otherwise. Still, it’s endearing, if only because he clearly knows it. It’s also endearing because he looks more carefree than she’s ever seen him, spinning her around and happily dancing along with everyone else. Clarke gets excited when her favorite Coldplay song comes on, and this time Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to sing along to it with her and everyone else. 

_'Cause you're a sky, 'cause you're a sky full of stars_   
_I wanna die in your arms_   
_'Cause you get lighter the more it gets dark_   
_I'm gonna give you my heart_   
  
_I don't care, go on and tear me apart_   
_I don't care if you do, ooh_   
_'Cause in a sky, 'cause in a sky full of stars_   
_I think I see you_   
_I think I see you_

Clarke and Bellamy end up on the edge of the crowd by the end of the song. Clarke is out of breath, head spinning not just with alcohol but with the proximity of being so close to Bellamy. She wants...she just wants him, and she doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Bellamy looks down at her when he notices her staring up at him. She brushes her messy blonde hair out of her face, off her damp forehead, before she leans up to press her lips to his. 

Kissing Bellamy isn’t like kissing Atom or anyone else she’s kissed. She feels it in her whole body, a tingling coursing through her from head to toe as her hands cup his face. He kisses her back, lips moving against hers as his hands land her hips, pulling her even closer. She leans back for air, still out of breath from the dancing, and her hands drop from his face as his drop from her waist. His eyes are dark, but wide, as if shocked by the turn of events. Clarke laughs, unsure of what to say, and reaches for her flask. After taking a generous sip from it, she offers it to him. 

Bellamy, seemingly finding his voice again, lets out a surprised laugh as he takes the flask from her and takes a swig from it. 

“I’m going to marry you some day,” laughs, shaking his head as he hands her back her flask. 

Clarke raises her brow at that, unsure of how to take such a statement. Was that a joke? Was he saying he likes her? Is he more drunk than she realized? Was he just...was he just  _ what _ ?

“You’re full of it,” Clarke laughs, even though she knows it sounds stilted. But what the hell is she supposed to say to  _ that _ ?

“Clarke!”

Clarke turns to find Harper jogging up to her. 

“Roma needs us,” Harper tells her, dragging her away from Bellamy by her arm. Harper is saying something about Roma crying over some boy, and throwing up, but Clarke is hardly paying attention. Her eyes are still on Bellamy, who takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair, looking back at her. Then he turns and walks further into the crowd before Clarke even turns away from him.

\--∞--

Clarke wakes with the sunrise, her had already pounding. She didn’t black out, and she didn’t throw up, so given how much she drank last night, she considers that a win. Then she rolls onto her side and thinks that maybe she’d feel better if she  _ had  _ thrown up. 

Bree is sleeping next to her in the bed of Wells’s truck. She never made it back to Bellamy after being pulled away by her friends. By the time they took care of Roma, Bellamy was talking with the guys again. When she passed his truck later, some of them were sleeping in the back of it, although she isn’t sure where Bellamy went off to. Her and Bree ended up in the back of Wells’s truck with Wells, Trina, and Pascal. Clarke rubs at her eyes and sits up, the others stirring with her. She looks around the area, finding that others are already packing up and that the coals of the fire are still smoking.

Clarke climbs out of the truck, desperate for her water bottle that’s still in the back of Bellamy’s truck. At the thought of Bellamy, memories of last night start washing over her - particularly memories of them kissing. With the alcohol out of her system, she’s less sure than ever what he’s thinking about all of it. Groaning, she steels herself to face him. Her backpack is still in his truck too, so she doesn’t have much of a choice. 

Clarke is surprised to find that Bellamy is already awake, the rest of the guys gone from the back of his truck. 

“Hey,” she greets him, voice raspy. 

“Morning,” he says casually. “I was just about to come ask if you wanted a ride home. I’ve got work later so I’m going to head out.”

Part of Clarke wants to run in the other direction at the mention of sitting in a car with Bellamy after what happened, but she also needs to know what he’s thinking about all of it, one way or another. 

“Sure, thanks.”

Unlike the fun drive to the party, the one back home is quiet. She guesses that Bellamy is nursing a headache as bad as her own, and neither says a word or even makes a move to turn on the radio. Given that her hangover is already making her nauseous, she doesn’t appreciate that her nerves are making it that much worse. Still, she doesn’t dare say anything until Bellamy pulls into his driveway. She needs to be able to run if things go south. 

“Hey, about last night-” Clarke starts, as Bellamy puts the truck in park.

“We were both really drunk,” he cuts her off. “Don’t worry about it.” He forces a laugh, one that’s stilted rather than the deep rumble she’s grown to love. 

“Right, yeah,” Clarke agrees, even as her heart drops into her stomach. “I better get home,” she quickly adds, hopping out of the car. Bellamy follows her out of the car and Clarke quickly takes her bike from where it’s leaning against his garage door. She’ll have to walk it home. She can’t stomach the thought of riding it right now.

“Hey, you sure you don’t want a ride? I can put your bike in my truck.”

Clarke looks over at him, only then realizing how nervous he looks. She quickly shakes her head, forcing her face into a casual expression. If he knows how badly he’s made her feel, it’ll only make things more awkward between them.

“Nope, I’m good. I’ll see you Monday!”

Clarke doesn’t wait until Bellamy answers before she starts rolling her bike down his driveway. The whole walk home, she fights against the ache in her chest and the tears welling behind her eyes. Her tears wait, ever so patiently, until Clarke is back in her bedroom. That’s when they escape. 

* * *

Clarke turns on a different playlist once the second song -  _ Unforgettable  _ \- ends. Listening to just the one song shook her enough, and she can’t show up to the hospital frazzled and emotional when she’s there to do art with a bunch of kids. Still, her mind is reeling over the memories of that night and everything that came before it. While it wasn’t long after that night that they got together, she never quite understood the significance of that it for him. Bellamy was so drunk, and yet, he remembered every moment of it. Even after everything, she can’t fathom that she might be engrained as deeply in his heart as he is in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it, comments & kudos always appreciated. You can find me on tumblr (@burninghoneyatdusk) and twitter (@burnhoneydusk_).
> 
> I matched this prompter's donation by donating to [Black Women for Wellness](https://www.bwwla.org/).


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